


The Stark Diaries

by Wordsplat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crossover, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Pining, The Princess Diaries - Freeform, Tony Stark learns how to be a princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Princess Diaries/Avengers AU, starring Tony as a gawky teen still waiting for normal body parts to arrive, Steve as the formerly-gawky teen still ridiculously in love with him, and Phil Coulson as the temporary King of Genovia. Clint, of course, remains unimpressed by everything but the limo and its smoking hot driver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dipped a teensy tiny bit into comic book knowledge for the students at Tony's high school. Most of them won't play much of a big role, since I don't have solid enough comic knowledge write them particularly well. This is just an fyi that if you don't recognize a name, it's likely a comic character.

"Tony! It's time for school, stop fiddling with your toys and get going!"

"C'mon Rhodey," Tony Carter sighed, abandoning his latest project and picking the fat cat up off his chair with a sigh, "Time for hell."

He gave himself one last glance over in the mirror-rumpled school uniform, unkempt hair all over the place, stupid blocky glasses…welp, this was as good as it got-then reluctantly came down the stairs of his loft. He placed Rhodey on his cat castle, then slid down the fire pole to the first floor of their apartment.

"Feeling confident?" his mother, Peggy, smiled up at him from the kitchen.

"Not really," Tony rolled his eyes.

"Oh, buck up, Tony! When you make your speech, just don't look at the people," Peggy advised, stowing away her art brushes, "Pick a spot on the back wall and don't take your eyes off it."

"Yeah, thanks," Tony sighed. Knowing that rationally wasn't going to do him any good. In the end, he was still going to fail it, just like always. Mechanical, electronic things he could deal with; people, not so much, "Bye."

"Good luck," Peggy nodded, waving a hand in goodbye.

Tony grabbed his electric scooter on the way out, and revved the engine. Unfortunately, he might have added just a little too much extra juice when he'd fiddled with it the other night; he shot forward, careening into his neighbor's trash cans. His neighbor peered over at him with a long-suffering sigh.

"MorningBruciebearIloveyoudon 'tkillme?" Tony exhaled in a rush, shooting his neighbor, Bruce, a weak grin. The guy supposedly had killer anger management issues, but Tony's idiotic behavior thankfully never quite seemed to warrant it.

"You're going to kill yourself one of these days," Bruce just shook his head, pulling the pen out from behind his ear and jotting something down on a notepad. He was always writing down something or another, not that he'd ever show Tony.

"Sorry," Tony apologized, hauling himself up and speeding off down the block, calling over his shoulder, "I'll fix something for you later to make up for it!"

"I'd rather you didn't!" Bruce called back.

Three blocks down the hill, Clint Barton, Tony's best friend since possibly forever zoomed up next to him on his own scooter.

"Thanks for the kick, Tones," he acknowledged, "This thing goes like ten times faster now."

"Told you I could do it," Tony grinned.

"I'm just glad you didn't set anything on fire this time."

"That was  _once-"_

"It was like ten times, do not even  _try_ and lie to me right now. I have spent way too many weeks waiting for your eyebrows to grow back so I can stop looking like I hang out with a pedophile."

"I do  _not_ look like a pedophile."

"You do without your eyebrows."

It was their first day back from winter break and as usual, Shield High was a riot area. At the top of the steps the cheerleaders and football players for their champion team, the Avengers, sat preening about their latest victory. Hank Pym and Janet van Dyne, king and queen of the school, were busy making out, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff were talking with Victor Shade and the new foreign exchange player T'Challa, while Carol Danvers and Jessica Drew kicked back with Bobbi Morse.

Tony and Clint shared an eyeroll of mutual disgust; Avengers. Who needed them? Ty Stone, flirtacious asshole extraordinaire and Tony's ex-friend, hopped up on the brick wall, walking the edge all the way up to the cheerleaders, slamming closed the laptop lids of two geeks as he went by. Jane Foster rolled her eyes and opened it again, while Darcy chucked a book at Ty's head.

Ty just ducked to pick a flower from one of the planters, presenting it to Janet with a flirty grin.

"Such a show-off," she rolled her eyes, but there was no denying the proud, queen bee smirk on her face, even as Hank pouted.

"Off the wall, Tiberius," principal Maria Hill strode by, heels clicking as she snapped her fingers, "I said off the wall."

Then the ten-minute bell rang, and it was off to class.

* * *

"Someone sat on me again," Tony complained to Clint between third and fourth period while they got their books from their lockers, "In the middle of class, this time."

"So it's true that you've actually perfected the ability to turn invisible?"

"Thanks, asshole. You're super helpful," Tony rolled his eyes.

"You want helpful? Check out tall blonde and gorgeous over there," Clint jerked his head to gesture over Tony's shoulder, "I think he's checking you out-oh wait, never mind, he just shoved his face in his locker, I can't tell anymore."

"Who?" Tony turned, scanning the hallway, "Was it Steve?"

"It wasn't Steve, my god, you are so obsessed with h…wait," Clint paused in his teasing to lean past Tony for a double-take, "Holy fuck, that was  _Steve._ Christ, Tony, you've got to get a load of this guy, he grew like six feet and  _muscles."_

"Yeah?" Tony chanced a look, and just about had a heart attack.

_Holy mother of god._

Six feet may have been an exaggeration, but Steve had gained at least a solid six inches. Where before Tony had a nice height advantage, Steve would now most likely all but loom over him. It wasn't just that, either; Steve had been thin, all bony fists and gumption to keep him going, and now he had linebacker shoulders and biceps Tony's whole hand wouldn't fit around.

Someone upstairs seriously loved torturing him.

"Well, fuck me."

"Not at school, Tones," Clint elbowed him with a grin.

"No, seriously, fuck, this sucks," Tony complained, "I mean it's awesome cause, hello most attractive person I have ever seen in my life, but _fuck me_ because he finally started talking to me just before break-well, okay, I talked to him since I was the one who dropped my car off at the shop he works at, but what the fuck ever, he talked back, semantics-and now he's so out of my league it's ridiculous."

"I don't know, he kinda looked like he was staring at you-"

"Clint," Tony deadpanned, "Look at him. Look at me. That is  _so_ not happening in my lifetime. But in the meantime, look at him some more because mother of fuck is that a gorgeous view."

"Tony, dude, this is a  _sign._ "

"Shut up, I'm busy," Tony leaned against his locker, shamelessly staring at Steve's ass.

"No, listen! You've been obsessed with this guy for fucking ever, right? Maybe this is like, a sign that whoever's up there approves and is like 'here Tony, just for you, I'll make him super bangable'."

"You're a fucking idiot," Tony shoved him, "Besides, what would he want with a nobody like me?"

"Dude," Clint rolled his eyes, "You've been pining over him since freshman year. You were head over heels for the guy when he was 50lbs of skin, bones and blonde hair, and that was fine cause no one saw 'the real Steve Rogers', or whatever you called it, like you did. But now, people aren't gonna bother to look for 'the real Steve Rogers', if know what I'm saying."

"That my life fucking sucks?"

"No, I'm saying, go get a piece of that ridiculously sculpted ass before someone else does. After debate though, cause I'm pretty sure we've got like thirty seconds to get to class."

"Fuck  _meee_ ," Tony whined, grabbing the last of his books and taking off down the hallway.

Two rows down, Steve Rogers leaned against his locker with a sigh.

"Oh God, it's the Tony Sigh," Bucky Barnes, Steve's best friend and the guitarist in his band, groaned.

"You have a serious problem, dude," Sam Wilson, his other friend and lead drummer, agreed, patting Steve on the shoulder sympathetically.

"I do not," Steve protested, biting his lip. It wasn't his fault Tony's hair was particularly ruffled today. What he wouldn't give to run his hands through that hair…

"Listen man, if you ever wanna be more than 'that guy who fixed his car', you've gotta actually say something to him," Sam pointed out.

"But I haven't even fixed his car yet," Steve protested.

Tony had brought 'his baby' into the shop where Steve worked before break, and Steve had all but tripped over his too-big feet to be the first to help him. He and Tony had talked for almost two hours-admittedly, it had started out mostly about Tony's baby and the various things she'd need to get running, but they got to talking about other stuff too!-and Steve hadn't been able to think about anything else since.

He'd met Tony his freshman year, when he was still a pint-sized hothead who never knew when to back down. Tony had run into some of the more popular kids kicking Steve's ass behind the football field, and told them to go pick on someone their own size.

It wasn't as romantic as it sounded; it ended with the bullies beating both him  _and_ Tony up, landing them all in the principal's office. They'd had detention together for two weeks afterwards, and though Steve never got the courage to say anything other than a quick, stammered thank you, he'd had a desperate crush on Tony ever since.

"Right," Bucky snorted, "Because the guy who went out of his way to save your tiny ass frosh year would only ever talk to you if you fixed his car."

"Not to mention there isn't anyone on this campus that doesn't want to talk to you now," Sam elbowed Steve, "Mr. Growth-spurt-of-the-century."

"I'm just glad the working out finally took," Steve shook his head, "But I don't want him to just like me cause I grew, y'know?"

"Oh, I forgot, Stevie wants to be loved for his  _mind,_ " Bucky sighed, not really mocking, just teasing, "Look, I'm sure he'd like your mind just fine if you said two words to him. He's in my chem class, and you'd think he was Einstein or some shit."

"I know, he's a genius," Steve just sighed the Tony Sigh, letting his head fall back against the locker with a clang, "And he doesn't even know I exist."

"You are so completely hopeless," Bucky rolled his eyes.

* * *

"-this is not a debate; this is a control issue!" Ty insisted, "Shield controls our minds with what they teach us, but you know what? They're not satisfied with that. I think Shield should dump the uniforms and have casual dress all year round!"

Naturally, every student in the debate class cheered. Tony sank lower in his seat.

"Alright, alright, settle down. Now remember, you're only allowed casual dress this period, you'll need to be back in your uniform the rest of the day, Ty," the debate teacher, Mr. Phillips, reminded the teen.

"Anything you say," Ty shrugged with a grin, stripping off his thin t-shirt.

Tony tried and failed at not staring; Ty may have been a user jackass, but he was a  _hot_ jackass. What sexy-pills were everyone around him taking, and where could he get his hands on some?

"Down, boy," Mr. Phillips reprimanded, "You made your point. Change your clothes after class. Now that we've heard from Tiberius for the affirmative, let's hear the rebuttal from Tony, shall we?"

"What's my point again?" Tony whispered.

"You like our uniforms," Clint reminded, "They're equalizers."

Tony stood, making the impossibly long trek up to the front of the room. God, what asshole had decided debate class was a good idea for high school students? He  _hated_ public speaking. He swallowed nervously; was he really only halfway to the podium? Why was this walk so long? Was everyone staring at him? They totally were, he could feel it.

Finally, he gripped the podium and looked out and-oh god this was so much worse. They  _were_ all staring at him. Well, of course they were, he was supposed to be talking. Why wasn't he talking yet? Shit-

"Uh. Um. So, I. Uh. You see, um-"

"Come on, Carter, you got this," Clint muttered.

"We're waiting," someone called.

"Is he gonna talk or what?"

"Right, I, uh. Casual, c-casual dress, it…"

Oh, fuck.

"He's gonna hurl!"someone exclaimed.

Tony raced down the aisle, out the door before anyone could stop him.

Screw his other classes.

Tony skipped the rest of the day, taking his scooter and going straight to the rock gym where he worked. He loved his job; he was a rock-climbing instructor, and he was damn good at it. He was usually better with machines, but somehow working with his hands for so long had transferred over to rock-climbing. Freshman year of high school he'd had a couple issues to work out, and he'd gotten it out of his system by climbing there a couple times a week. When he turned fifteen, it only seemed natural that they'd offered him a job.

"I knew I'd find you here."

A hand landed on Tony's shoulder, and he startled.

"Mom! Shit, I-"

"I know," Peggy just sighed, "I heard. You threw up, huh?"

"Possibly," Tony winced.

"And then you ran away."

"And now I'm trying to forget about it, not that this is helping," Tony turned to the guy behind the counter, "Can I get shoes and some chalk, please?"

"You're not in trouble, Tony," Peggy leaned over, putting an arm around him, "These things happen. I'll talk to your debate teacher and straighten things out…no more skipping school though, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Look, I'm never going to be a good public speaker, alright? Just…tell him I'm gonna be a mime or something," Tony muttered.

"You'd make a very charming mime, dear," Peggy chuckled, patting him on the shoulder as he ducked down to lace up his climbing shoes. She paused briefly, then cleared her throat, "So…your father's personal assistant called."

Tony popped back up.

"…what?"

"You remember, Phillip Coulson?"

"Uh, no, I don't remember. I haven't seen him or dad since I was like, two, mom. What does he want?"

"He's in town," Peggy fidgeted ever so slightly, in a way that only Tony could pick up on, "He wants to have tea."

"Tea?" Tony raised an eyebrow, "Howard dies and his personal assistant I've never said two words to before came all the way from Europe to have  _tea_ with me?"

"No need for the sass," Peggy smacked his arm, "And he's your father, don't call him Howard."

"Oookay," Tony snorted, making his way to the rock wall, "And why, exactly, should I go see the snobby jerk who ignores us?"

"He knew your father very well, Tony. Just go see him tomorrow, hear what he has to say."

"Fine, whatever. I'll go see him," Tony grumbled, "Can we just climb now?"

* * *

Okay, so he had it bad.

The good news was, Steve  _knew_ he had it bad. Which meant theoretically, he could control himself when Tony walked into the room, hair disheveled like he'd just woken up, uniform rumpled like he didn't care. He could stop his heart from beating four thousand miles an hour when Tony slid onto the piano bench next to him to mess with the piano while they and the rest of the class waited for their music teacher to arrive.

Theoretically.

"Hey, Steve," Tony greeted, bumping his elbow amicably with a smile, "Winter break sure did you a favor."

_He remembered my name?_

Of course Tony remembered his name, idiot, he talked to him just a few weeks back. Right. Breathe. Just…say hi back. Or hey. Definitely hey. Who even said hi? That'd be weird, right? C'mon, just…say it. Right now.

Shit, great, now it's been ages and he hasn't said anything and now Tony probably thought he was a mentally challenged mute, or something, but maybe not mute, because Tony obviously knew he could talk, they'd talked before, but-

"Alright everyone, settle down," the teacher entered, clapping her hands together, "Line up, come on, this isn't new."

Then Tony was gone, sliding off the bench with a sigh to take his place with the other singers.

"Hey, are you sure you can't help me with my petition to get archery in schools today?" Clint whispered to Tony as Tony slid into place next to him.

"Sorry dude," Tony sighed, "I have to meet my father's old personal assistant right after school. Something about tea, I guess?"

"Weird," Clint raised an eyebrow.

"You're telling me."

* * *

Okay, what the fuck.

Tony already knew his father's ex-assistant was probably pretty rich, working for his businessman of a father for god knows how long, but the sprawling place Tony was standing in front of now seemed pretty damn expensive for a couple days visit. He wasn't even sure what it was; a condo maybe? Whatever it was, it had protective gates and security cameras and everything; frankly, Tony was starting to get a little weirded out about the whole thing.

He approached the gates, glancing around cautiously for the way in. He spotted the intercom, but before he could even press the button, a voice came over the speaker.

"The school tours are on Saturday, kid."

"Uh, not here for school," Tony waved a hand, then realizing they probably couldn't hear him, he pressing the intercom button, "I'm here to meet with Phillip Coulson? It's Tony, Tony Carter."

"Oh! Anthony, yes, come right up to the gate."

 _Anthony._  Ugh.

The gates rolled back and Tony sighed, hiking up his backpack and heading across the grass to the front door. Within a split second of his feet touching the grass, the speakers blared again.

"Get off the grass!" Tony leapt a foot in the air, while the voice continued, "Scendere l'erba! Descendre l'herbe! Runter vom Gras!"

"Okay, okay, I'm off the grass!" Tony shouted back, high-tailing it off the stupid grass.

He barely had time to finish glaring at the speakers before a man in a tailored suit and dark shades opened the door for him. Tony took notice of the mic subtly attached to his ear; the man was clearly a bodyguard of sorts.

"Welcome, Monsieur Anthony, we've been expecting you."

Tony just blinked, too taken aback by the high-class, somewhat French-inspired interior. It was all fancy and probably highly expensive, and Tony knew with perfect certainty in that moment that he was bound to break something before he left. He startled when another suited bodyguard began to feel through his backpack.

"Uh, hi?"

"This will be but a moment, sir. Safety precaution."

"Don't worry, I left all my explosives at home," Tony rolled his eyes sarcastically.

The bodyguards exchanged a glance, and the one currently feeling Tony up became a bit more thorough. When Tony was cleared, a butler appeared through the archway.

"Right through here, if you would? Make yourself comfortable."

Tony flopped down on the nearest couch, tossing his backpack at his feet. The butler looked somewhat surprised, apparently not expecting Tony to get quite  _that_ comfortable. Whatever. If his dad's weirdo assistant was going to haul him all the way out in the middle of nowhere to drink tea-which, by the way, ew much? He was so much more of a coffee guy-Tony was going to damn well get comfortable while he waited.

"-es, yes, for their daughter Marissa. She's allergic to strawberries, don't you dare forget. And we need new pillows for the prime minister's wife, she doesn't care for goose feathers. Ah, hello Anthony," a prim, rushed-looking strawberry blonde bustled in, a planner in one hand, the other outstretched to him, "My name is Ms. Virginia Potts, you can call me Pepper. I'm the Genovian attaché."

"Nice to meet you," Tony shook the offered hand, then, "Why does my dad's old PA get an attaché? Aren't those just for visiting dignitaries and stuff? And where am I, anyway? This doesn't really look like a hotel."

"You're at the Genovian consulate," Pepper answered only one of his questions, before gesturing at him to take a seat, "He'll be with you in a moment, and he can answer any other questions himself."

"I don't need a moment, I'm right here."

Tony didn't remember much of Phillip Coulson. He had a fuzzy image in his head, something about sunglasses indoors and a full head of a hair, but both those had been apparently abandoned. The man descending the stairs had the same crisp, clean-cut suit though, the same air of cool confidence and effortless composure Tony could now vaguely remember looking up to as a kid.

Everyone in the room stood, from the bodyguards to the front desk dude, so Tony hastily stood to join them.

"Anthony, it's good to see you."

"You too," Tony nodded, mostly because it seemed appropriate, then opened his mouth to correct the Anthony. Before he could, the man stopped, resting his hands formally behind his back.

"You look so…" he paused, drawing out the word, as if searching for something better, "Well, young."

"Really?" Tony frowned, "Since you last saw me at age two?"

"Well, I expected you'd be older when we met again," Phillp nodded once, more to himself than to Tony, "But no matter. Pepper, is everything set in the garden?"

Pepper nodded once, and Phillip gestured for them to follow after her. They walked out into the garden in silence, with Phillip still shooting Tony these weird, measuring sort of looks, like he was trying to find more of Tony than there actually was. He didn't like it; it reminded him too much of what little he remembered of his father.

"So!" Tony declared as they sat down, "My mom said you wanted to talk to me about something? Shoot."

"Well," Phillip seemed somewhat taken aback, "Before I…'shoot'…have you ever heard of Howard Christoph Anthony Walter Stark?"

"Can't say I have," Tony shrugged. Though, the name sure sounded like a pain in the ass.

"He was the crown Prince of Genovia."

"That's…cool?" Tony tried, unsure what he was supposed to be getting here.

It's not like Genovia was a particularly well-known country, and Tony was failing History anyway. The only reason he'd even heard of the place was because that's where his absentee father had taken off to forever and a half ago.

"Howard Christoph Anthony Walter Stark," Phillip paused, then, "Was your father."

Tony snorted crudely, spitting some of his tea back into the cup. Phillip looked disgusted by this, but Tony just laughed.

"Right. My dead-beat dad was the crown Prince of Genovia. Sure. I'll give you one thing, you've got a hell of a poker face. You should take up gambling, seriously. With your poker face and my talents at card-counting, we could bankrupt Las Vegas."

Phillip just looked mildly confused, and Tony suddenly became in need of air.

"No."

Phillip raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, no. That's totally not possible. This is the part where someone jumps out the bushes with a camera and yells 'gotcha', right? Cause seriously, my life is not a Disney movie, you don't just…wake up one day, Tony Carter, this random fucking nobody, and the next you're Prince of a fucking  _country!"_

"Watch your language," Phillip chastised, and  _oh my god this was so fucking weird,_ "You're not just 'Tony Carter'. Your full, legal name is Anthony Edward Carter Stark, Prince of Genovia."

"Shut  _up."_

"I beg your pardon?" the look Phillip shot him was nothing short of deadly, and Tony found himself immediately regretting his every decision in life.

One of the wait staff thankfully beat him to an explanation,

"Your highness, in America 'shut up' does not always necessarily mean 'be quiet', it often means wow, gee whiz, et cetera."

"Ah," Phillip's brow furrowed, "I see."

"I'm sorry, did he just say  _your highness?"_ Tony gaped at Phillip.

"Yes. That's why I'm staying here at the embassy," so that's what this weird-ass place was, "In the wake of your father's death, and with you as a minor, I was the one he wanted to take his place. I am royalty by chance; you are royalty by blood. You can rule."

" _Rule?"_ Tony abruptly dropped the tea spoon still dangling from his hand, "Oh no, ohhh no, no no no, now you  _really_ have the wrong guy here, I never lead  _anything,_ okay? Not cub scouts, not sports teams, hell, I don't even  _play_ sports! Look, Phil, Phillip, King Phillip, whatever, my expectation in life? Is to be invisible. And I'm good at it."

"Anthony, I had other expectations for my life too, you know," Phillip sighed, tapping his spoon lightly against his teacup, "King was never a position I expected or desired to fill. But for you, this is in your blood. You are the legal heir, the only heir."

"I am so not Prince material."

"We have accepted the…" Phillip gave him that same look again, the one that was waiting for Tony to magically become some regal dancing monkey, "…challenge you present. We can help you get there. I have books you can read, you'll study languages, history, art, political science!"

His face had gone light, enthralled at the prospect of all the subjects that made Tony want to curl up into a ball and die.

"I can teach you to walk, talk, sit, stand, eat, dress, all like the Prince that you truly are. And given time, I think you'll find the palace in Genovia a very pleasant place to live."

For all the Prince that he may have been, all Tony really wanted to do was go home and blow something up.

"Live in  _Genovia?"_ Tony gaped, "No, rewind and freeze, I'm not a Prince, okay,I'm still waiting for normal  _body_ parts to arrive! I refuse to move to, and fucking  _rule,_ a country!"

With that, Tony took off.

"Anthony? Anthony!"

Phil stood, moving to go after him, but quickly realized the child was faster than expected. He sighed; so much for that. With timing as impeccable as always, Natasha appeared out of seemingly thin air.

"Should I stop him?"

"No, I suppose not. If he's that upset, there isn't any point," Phil sighed.

"It went that well?" as per always, Natasha's face gave away nothing, but Phil could see the smile in her eyes.

"You think this is amusing?"

"He just needs time," she assured.

"Yes," Phil mused, "But until then, I'm going to need your help."

She of course caught on to his intentions immediately.

"I'm head of your security and personal bodyguard, the best in all of Genovia-and you're assigning me babysitting duty," Natasha's voice was dry and unamused.

"For the time being, yes," Phil sighed, "The child needs protection."

* * *

"In  _fifteen years_ you couldn't find a spare moment to tell me that Howard was fucking  _royalty?"_

"First off, young man," Peggy corrected him, waving a dish towel warningly in his direction over the kitchen counter, "Watch your language."

"Fuck my language!"

" _Second_ ," she pressed forward, "Stop calling him Howard, it's disrespectful. As for not telling you, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Oh, sure, I'll just call him  _King_  Howard then, that's respectful," Tony sneered, "And please. The right thing for who, mom?"

"For everyone. If your father and I went our separate ways, he was free to find a woman who could stay by his side in Genovia and produce heirs or what have you," she made a face that expressed just what she thought of that life, then softened to look at Tony, "And we would be able to live our own lives, free from that."

Tony just glared.

"Think about me for a minute here, Tony," she insisted, tossing the rag down to go wash her hands, "We met in  _college!_ I was young and in love, sure, but I wasn't ready to give up my whole life to be some lady tucked away in the royal bedchamber. I wanted to paint! I mean, can you really see  _me_  walking two steps behind someone for the rest of my life? With the rules and the regulations and the waving and the bowing?"

Peggy crossed back across the room to look at Tony, clearly upset.

"I was  _scared,_ Tony. I was scared that I'd settled down too fast into something too serious and all of a sudden I had a child and a husband and I was staring down the barrel of a life I didn't want."

"Well, living with a mother who lied to me for fifteen years scares me, okay?" Tony snapped, turning aggressively to head up to his room.

His mother, of course, wouldn't leave it at that. She climbed the stairs after him, continuing her explanation while Tony got ready for bed. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep for the next ten years. And maybe blow something up in the basement when he woke up.

"After the divorce, we all discussed it. Your father, and Phil by proxy, both agreed to keep that distance so you would have a chance at a normal childhood, free of emotional complications. We were going to tell you when you were eighteen years old. We just...we wanted to protect you."

At this point, Tony exited the bathroom pajama-clad to shout at her angrily.

"Well you know what? I don't feel protected, I feel lied to! You try living your whole life thinking you're one thing, then in five fucking minutes finding out that you're a  _Prince,_ okay? Cause just in case I'm not enough of a freak already, let's thrown in a fucking crown!"

"We'll talk more in the morning," Peggy just sighed, seeing that Tony was clearly not in the mood, "Sleep well, sweetheart."

Tony just glared at her sullenly until she closed the door, then collapsed on the bed next to Rhodey.

"Oh Rhodey," Tony sighed, "You're so lucky you don't know who your parents are."


	2. Chapter 2

Peggy sat across from Phil at her kitchen table, attempting not to fidget. He could see it in the tense lines of her shoulders, though he made no comment. He didn't quite stare her down, though she probably felt like he was, it was more that he was examining her, trying to reconcile this image of her now with the wild art student his boss had fallen so hard for fifteen years ago.

"You know," Peggy broke the silence at last, standing up to go look through a drawer, "I have this old photo of Howard, it's one of my favorites. We had so much fun when we were in college, he was so full of…joie de vivre, always laughing and smiling."

"I remember," Phillip nodded. Howard had been at his best then, at the peak of life where childhood and adulthood meet. He was happier then than Phil ever saw him in all the years after. But Howard wasn't what he'd come to discuss, "You know, if Anthony refuses to accept the throne, Genovia will cease to exist as we know it."

Peggy stared back at him with a look of mild horror.

"…so the future of your country is in the hands of my fifteen year old?"

"And where is he, exactly?" Phil glanced upstairs, "Shouldn't he be ready for school by now?"

"He, uh," Peggy cleared her throat, something almost like amusement on her face now, "The fifteen year old you're vetting to run your country likes to blow things up in his 'dungeon' before he goes to school."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, here it is," Peggy, clearly glad for a distraction, found the picture she was looking for and passed it to Phil.

"Howard was ready to be King," Phil acknowledged with a nod of his head to the striking, confident young man in the photo.

The same could not be said of himself…but that terrible car accident had made the decision for them. More than anything, the picture reminded Phil that Howard had once been young and irresponsible too; enough so that he had gone and married a free-spirited art student when they were fresh out of college and he had a kingdom waiting for him. If that man could grow up to be the Howard that Phil had known and worked side by side with for so long, perhaps Tony could too. They shared the same royal blood, after all.

* * *

To be fair, Tony had not actually blown anything up that morning. Well. Yet. He was straddling his electric scooter at that moment, his hands wrist-deep in wires and a wrench in his mouth, trying to moderate the kick he'd given it the other day. It was still too jumpy, and the speed boosts came in spurts that had him gliding down the block one minute and careening into trash cans the next.

"Rhodey, paw me that screwdriver," he ordered.

Rhodey shot him a deadpan look that told Tony exactly what he could do with his screwdriver.

"You," Tony declared, nudging the fat cat out of his way and stretching to grab the screwdriver off his worktable and point it accusingly at Rhodey, "Are useless."

He finished the last of it, then screwed the plate back into place. It was good as it was gonna get for now; Tony hauled it up, and climbed the stairs. When he got to the kitchen, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for him.

Phil.

Or, should he say, Phillip Coulson, royal crown King of where-the-fuck-ever.

"This is a fucking nightmare," Tony groaned, spinning back around, "I'm going back to bed."

"That's hardly the language of a Prince," Phil gave him a measured, chastising look.

"Great, guess I'm not a fucking Prince," Tony shot back.

"Tony," his mother warned, "The three of us have to talk."

"Oh, cool, great," Tony perked up sarcastically, "Is there something else about me and my life that just maybe I might wanna know about? Can we at least go on a talk show this time, get some real theatrical value out of it? Are we gonna go on Dr. Phil and tell me I have a twin sister who's a Duchess?"

"You have a cousin who's a Countessa," Phil offered dryly, "Fondly known as Bartholomew, though we call him Pookie."

"Yesterday didn't go well," Peggy intervened, since Phil clearly had not yet grasped the lengths of Tony's sarcasm, "Will you just…listen to Phillip for a moment?"

"Anthony," Phil began, "In a matter of weeks, we have an annual ball. I was-well, I  _am-_ hoping that I may present you to the press and the public on that occasion."

Tony was pacing. He picked up an orange, tossed it between his hands, placed it back down. He grabbed a glass of water, filled it, drank half, threw out the rest. He paced some more, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles anxiously while Phil continued to talk. What karmic balance had he disturbed? What had he done to piss off whatever god up there so clearly hated him?

"However, you  _desperately_ need some instruction before then," Phil wasn't gentle, nor was he rude, just factual, "I speak for the entire Genovian Parliament, and the royal family."

"And I speak for this family," Peggy added.

"Excuse me?" Tony interrupted abruptly, "No, I don't have a 'family' with either one of you, because  _you_ I'm not even related to, not to mention you ignored me for fifteen years, and _you_ lied to me!  _Families_ don't do shit like that to each other!"

Then Tony was off down the stairs into the basement, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Where is he going?" Phil stood, following Peggy down the stairs after him.

"He calls it his dungeon," Peggy sighed, knocking on the door, "Tony? Tony, come out of there!"

"He has a dungeon?" Phil muttered to himself.

"Most kids just want a car for their sixteenth birthday, not a fucking country!"

"Tony, for heaven's sake, stop swearing," Peggy berated, "This is getting us nowhere."

"Just go away!" Tony's petulant voice came through the door, "I'm gonna be late for the meeting with my guidance counselor, y'know!"

"And I'm late for a meeting with Spain and Portugal," Phil huffed, checking his wristwatch.

"How about," Peggy took a deep breath, "Tony, you promise to attend Prince lessons until the ball. You will neither accept,  _nor reject,_ the offer to be royal until this ball, at which point you'll make your decision. Now, can you both live with that?"

"If I have to," came Tony's muffled reply.

Then he slid back the door, coming out at last, Rhodey darting past him to hiss at Phil. Tony failed to hide a grin at the cat's antics, and Phil shot Rhodey a look that sent him scampering off to hide.

"It sounds fine," Phil nodded swiftly in agreement, "But not one word to the press, Anthony, or they'll have a field day."

"Duh," Tony rolled his eyes, sidestepping them both, making to grab his scooter once again before Phil stopped him.

"Ah, no need. Come with me."

Tony shrugged and followed after Phil out the door, talking all the way about how unfair this all was. Then Phil got in a question about his plans for his sixteenth birthday, and Tony was effectively sidetracked.

"Well, my mom traded two of her paintings to get me this wicked sweet 1966 Mustang-you  _do_ know what a Mustang is, right?"

"I raise Mustangs," Phil gave Tony a disapproving look, "And that's hardly a sensible car for a Prince."

"Well, okay, sure, but it's not really a sensible car for anyone, since it doesn't actually run yet. It's in the shop right now."

"Your mother said you're very mechanically adept. Is it beyond you?"

"Hardly," Tony snorted, then realizing Phil was questioning why he then took it to a shop, he blushed just faintly, "Uh, well, yeah, and I mean, I  _could_ get it running on my own, but they have, uh, good mechanics there. I thought I'd, y'know, let him have a crack at it, and all."

"You fancy one of the mechanics," it wasn't a question, and Phil gave him another measuring sort of look, not approving or disapproving, just seeming to re-evaluate his initial assessment of Tony.

"Uh," Tony's blush only increased in spite of his attempts to will it down, "Why do you ask?"

"You said you would let him 'have a crack at it', not them. You sounded as if you had someone in mind."

"Is that like a thing? Can you not have a gay Prince? Cause in that case I'm kind of disqualified-"

"We're not that outdated, you know," Phil chuckled, "Genovia cares far more about your ability to rule than your sexual preferences. Though I advise you take caution when indulging in any of that behavior, regardless of your partner's gender. How you act reflects on your country."

" _If_ I accept," Tony pointed out.

"If you accept," Phil nodded.

"Morning, Brucie-bear!" Tony greeted as they passed Bruce's porch.

"And who is this?" Phil gestured.

"Oh, that's my science buddy, Dr. Bruce Banner, he helps me find spare parts for my engineering projects sometimes," Tony waved, then in an aside to Phil, "But he has a thing for people in suits, they make him nervous, so I wouldn't introduce yourself dressed like that. He'll spook."

"Morning," Phil greeted Bruce anyway. Bruce stayed silent, watching them warily, giving just a slight nod in return, "Now, I have someone I want you to meet."

" _Whoa,"_ Tony gaped at the fancy stretch limos sitting in front of his building, "You have  _two_ limos?"

"One is yours," Phil led him to the first one, where a woman in all black stood, arms folded behind her back formally, "Anthony, this is the head of my security, Natasha Romanov."

"Hi. Wow."

She wasn't very old, maybe twenty-five at best, and Tony found himself wondering how in the hell she'd come across 'bodyguard of the King' as a job position. Then she shook his hand, and something about her terse 'hello', the pressure of her hand, and the entirely capable look in her eyes assured Tony that, yes, she was very, very right for this position.

Tony was then escorted into the back seat of the limo, where he proceeded to fiddle with every button he could possibly reach.

"No matter how many times you press the buttons, they will work the same," Natasha informed him crisply.

"Right," Tony gulped guiltily, "Sorry. Hey, uh, Ms. Romanov? Can we make a left here to grab my friend? I usually scooter to school with him."

Clint was gonna shit a brick when he saw this thing.

"Of course," Natasha made the turn, then assured him, "And Natasha is fine."

"Nat?" Tony joked, relaxing slightly.

"Natasha," she corrected without a smile, and Tony quickly folded his hands in his lap and resumed silence, not wanting to further endanger his life.

When they arrived outside Clint's apartment complex, Tony hopped out with a grin. Clint stood, gaping widely at the limo, clutching his Lord of the Rings backpack (Legolas kicks ass, fuck you very much) for dear life.

"Did I miss something?" Clint laughed at last, "Are we going to a wedding?"

"What?" Tony blinked, faking ignorance, "Isn't this how we always get to school?"

"Cut the crap," Clint punched him in the arm, "What  _is_ this?"

"A limo, you idiot, haven't you ever seen one?" Tony grinned back.

"Hot damn," Clint then began to gape for an entirely different reason, "How'd you get a playboy bunny to drive your limo?"

"That's Natasha," Tony elbowed him, "And I would definitely  _not_ say things like that in her vicinity. She has this kind of I-am-capable-of-strangling-you-with-your-own-intestines vibe going on."

"That is so hot."

"Your funeral," Tony shrugged with a laugh, opening the door to let Clint slide in.

"Hey babe, thanks for the ride," Clint stretched out, shooting Natasha a flirty wink as he did so.

Up went the partition.

"Your new girlfriend is rude, Tones," Clint huffed.

"It's not her fault you're a slimeball," Tony snorted, not bothering to address the girlfriend comment. He'd come out to Clint in the eighth grade, and Clint had just shoved him and told him he'd known for ages; there was no edge to comments like that.

"So is your mom dating an undertaker or what?" Clint gestured to the limo.

"Nah, I told you about my father's weirdo personal assistant showing up out of nowhere, right?"

"The Genovian guy," Clint remembered.

"Right. Well, he said he wanted me to use this while he's in town," Tony shrugged, "It's weird, but so is he, so it's whatever."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I guess he's trying to get me to like him or something? I don't know. Hey, Natasha?" Tony knocked on the partition, and Natasha rolled it down, "Can you park a block or two from school? Shield's enough of a riot scene as it is."

"If you'd like," Natasha nodded.

Life-shattering revelations aside, Tony's day went about as well as expected. He managed to avoid the Avengers clique for all of one period before the bulimia jokes began, then he had to hold Clint back from decking the prom queen who started them. Second period someone sat on him again, and third period they were playing baseball.

In the one upside to Tony's craptastic day, Steve Rogers had been upgraded from left field to pitcher. The new muscles had clearly not gone unnoticed by their coach, Mr. Just-call-me-Thor Odinson. This put Tony, who spent pretty much the entire game on the bench, in the prime spot to watch Steve's gorgeous arm muscles as he practiced catching and throwing with a couple of his teammates.

Then, of course, Coach Thor had to ruin everything by telling Tony to step in as catcher.

"Alright, I'm going to let this one go, I want to see you catch it," Coach Thor instructed, laying a solid hand on Tony's shoulder, "I believe in you, Anthony."

"Right," Tony winced under the heavy grip, "Well, your faith is misplaced, and oddly sincere for a baseball game, but thanks anyway."

He glanced up at Steve, who gave him a smile and a nod. He mouthed something vaguely along the lines of 'you got this', and Tony nodded back, trying not to beam like an idiot. Then Steve wound up and tossed him an easy grounder, which of course bounced right past Tony's glove. He chased after it, and, upset and embarrassed, threw it back as hard as he could.

Only, instead of going into Steve's glove, it smacked him straight in the nose.

Tony was officially ready to die now.

* * *

Steve was officially ready to die now.

His nose hurt something fierce, and Tony was dropping his glove to come inspect Steve's face. Before Steve could even blink, the brunette was really, really close, about an inch from his face, fretting and fidgeting and generally panicking.

It was kind of adorable, actually, if you ignored the fact that it was because he'd just hit him in the nose.

"Holy fuck," Tony swore, "Shit, fuck, Steve, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to-"

"I know," Steve cut him off, mainly because as great as it was that Tony was finally talking to him, his head really, really hurt. Coach Thor came up behind Tony, taking them both by the shoulders and steering them off the field.

"Anthony, take Steven to the nurse's, he shall need ice," Coach Thor instructed.

"Ice," Steve winced, "Yeah. Ice would be good."

"Shit I'm so sorry yeah here let's go get you ice," Tony continued to babble as he curled an arm around Steve's waist, warm and reassuring, on their way out of the baseball field.

"Oh," Steve blinked at him curiously, his face heating, "I, uh. I can walk?"

"Right!" and of course Steve could have hit himself, because that caused Tony to release the arm around Steve's waist, "Duh. Of course you can. I hit you in the nose, not the knee. Even if I did, I'm sure you'd be fine anyway. Cause I mean, hello," Tony gestured to him, then abruptly flushed, "I mean. Uh. You know, you're. Tough. And stuff."

"Wasn't always," Steve chuckled awkwardly, remembering all too well how Tony had come to his defense before.

"No kidding," Tony snorted, and Steve winced inwardly before realizing that Tony was still talking, not seeming to have meant it in a bad way, "Not that it ever seemed to stop you. But what the hell did you  _do_ over break?"

"Worked out a bit."

Steve wasn't fudging the truth exactly, it was more that he was making the executive decision not to mention that he'd been working out since freshman year, mostly in the vain hope that he would bulk up and get Tony's attention. Just his luck that even with his new muscles, Tony  _still_ didn't notice him unless he was bleeding.

Whatever; he'd take it.

"A bit? Rogers, I'd say you've got muscles coming out your ass, but even your ass has muscles."

"Been checking out my ass?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

Tony looked like he was choking, and Steve just wanted to die. What had  _possessed_ him to  _say_ something like that? He didn't even know if Tony was into guys, and here he was asking if Tony had checked out his  _ass?_ What in the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he seem to act like a normal human being for ten seconds around this guy?

"Uh," Tony cleared his throat, "I meant, um. Metaphorically speaking. Figuratively? I don't fucking know, I'm so shit at English-"

"I thought you were a genius."

Christ Almighty, what was wrong with him? 'I thought you were a genius'? Real smooth. Great. Now he sounded like an idiot.

"You bet your ass I am," Tony just laughed, thank God, "But I get bored. And when I get bored, I can't focus. When I can't focus…eh."

"I could help you focus."

_Oh my God Rogers, stop talking if you value your life-_

"Yeah?"

"I'm good at English," Steve shrugged, strangely smooth in spite of his inner panic attack. Was this what an out of body experience felt like? He was pretty sure he was having one, because there was no way he was the one actually saying these things, "I could help you study, sometime."

"Yeah, definitely, sure, that sounds great, uh, good, I mean, you know. Cool," Tony babbled, opening the door to the nurse's, "Hello? I just beaned this guy in the face with a baseball, can we get an ice pack or something?"

Steve couldn't help but chuckle at Tony's phrasing, while the nurse bustled over.

"Be a dear and help him up onto the bed," the nurse gestured to Tony, bustling away to grab whatever it was she needed.

Tony looked to Steve, as if to see if it was okay, before placing a hand lightly on Steve's back and helping him onto the cot. The nurse passed Tony an ice pack before hustling back off into the closet.

"Press that to his nose," she instructed, "Do be gentle with him, it's going to hurt."

"Sorry," Tony apologized to Steve in advance, biting his lip. It was delightfully distracting, until Tony pressed the ice pack to Steve's nose and pain shot through him like an electric wire.

"Ah," Steve winced, and Tony winced in sympathy.

"Sorry, sorry," Tony bit his lip again.

"'s okay," Steve cracked a smile, "Not your fault."

"Uh," Tony gave a weak laugh, "Actually, it kinda is."

"It was an accident," Steve pointed out, "I don't blame you."

"Good, cause that'd make studying together awkward," Tony joked lightly.

"Yeah," Steve tried and failed to clamp down on the grin that threatened to break free at the thought of spending more time with Tony, "No kidding."

"Alright, let's have a look at you," the nurse came back, and she waved Tony and his cold pack away to examine Steve's nose, her fingers carefully prodding. After a moment, she continued, "Well, you're lucky. There's some swelling, and it's certainly going to bruise, but it's not broken or fractured. I'm going to pack your nose with gauze to stop the bleeding, and then we're going to elevate your head while you try and get some sleep. Rest and ice are all you're going to need. And you, you're fine, right?"

"Me?" Tony piped up, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then it was very nice of you to bring your friend in, but you'd best be getting back to class."

"Oh. Uh, okay."

"Do you need a pass?"

"Nah, Coach Thor knows where I was," Tony shrugged, moving to leave before Steve, without thinking, reached out to catch his wrist. Tony glanced back, looking from his hand to Steve, bewildered.

"Thank you," Steve told him sincerely.

"Oh," Tony blinked widely, then gave a shy sort of smile that Steve couldn't help find ridiculously gorgeous, "Yeah. Sure."

* * *

"So, I talked to Steve today," Tony hummed as he and Clint zipped down the block after school.

"By 'talk' do you mean you drooled and stared until he gave up and walked away?" Clint snickered.

"Fuck off, asshole. I mean we actually talked. And I mean, okay, I had to hit him with a baseball first, but-"

"I'm sorry, you had to  _what?"_

"By  _accident._ It was in gym today, I was catcher and he was pitcher-"

"Is this an allegory for sex? Cause hot damn, Tones, you move fast as fuck-"

"Stop being an asshole," Tony shoved him, "I'm being serious. I tried to catch the ball but because I fail at life the world and everything, I missed, and since I was pissed I threw it back extra hard and got him in the nose."

"Only you, man."

"Yeah, fuck off. Anyway, I went with him to the nurse's, and on the way we got to talking a bit. He's gonna help me with English," Tony smiled, the thought of Steve making him feel warm.

"Well look at you," Clint elbowed him with a grin, "A regular Disney princess getting swept off their feet."

"Screw you," Tony huffed, "I'm not a princess, dickwad."

"Prince, whatever," Clint rolled his eyes.

"Please," Tony groaned, "Do not call me that."

"Whatever man."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Clint. I'm turning here, I'm gonna stop by the shop to check up on my baby."

"By which you mean you're gonna go see Steeeve, huh?" Clint grinned, waggling his eyebrows, "You do your thing, Tones. Just bring the limo and your hot driver tomorrow and we'll call it even!"

"You got it!" Tony called back, turning the corner and making his way to the repair shop where Steve worked, trying to tell himself he wasn't nervous.

He  _wasn't._ Just because he babbled like an idiot every time Steve looked at him didn't mean he should be nervous. Steve was nice. He was…your classic, all-American boy scout kind of guy. He didn't make fun of Tony or laugh at him, even when Tony acted like a complete moron around him, and hey, he remembered his name, so that had to mean something, right? Right.

Tony zoomed up to the shop, just in time to catch the tail end of Steve and his friends playing a set. He recognized the guitarist, Bucky something, and the drummer, Sam Wilson, and of course, Steve on keyboard. Tony tried not to stare-he was in a band, too? Christ, could the guy get more perfect?-heading over to look at his beautiful, eggshell blue baby instead.

He was still inspecting her odds and ends when someone tapped him on the shoulder, offering a handful of candy.

"M&M's?" Steve gave a quirky little smile, and Tony smiled back.

"Hell yeah," Tony accepted the candy, then jerked a thumb at where Steve and his friends had been rehearsing, "You're in a band?"

"We mess around a bit," Steve shrugged modestly, "We call ourselves the Howling Commandos."

"Sounds…" Tony searched for the right word, "Intimidating."

"Our eighth grade selves thought so," Steve chuckled.

"Well, you sounded great," Tony popped another M&M in his mouth, then, "Where'd you get the candy?"

"Oh, uh," Steve's cheeks went a bit pink, "I use them when I play."

"You just fed me keyboard M&M's?"

"They're clean, I promise," Steve flushed even more, "Sorry, I shouldn't of-"

"Oh please, it's fine, I've eaten so much worse," Tony snorted, "I was the kid who ate dirt on dares."

"You seem like it," Steve gave him that quirked sort of smile again.

"Why do you have M&M's on your keyboard, anyway?"

"Uh, well," Steve scratched the back of his head, "It was a trick my mom used. I had a heck of a sweet tooth as a kid, and I was reluctant to learn at first, so she would put M&M's on all the keys I had to play. For every right note I hit, when I finished the piece, I could eat those pieces of candy."

"She sounds smart."

"She was, yeah," Steve was still smiling, but it was softer somehow, sadder.

"Shit," Tony swore under his breath. What was with him and fucking everything up today? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Steve just waved him off, "It was a while ago. I'm okay."

"My father died," Tony heard himself blurt, "Two months ago. Not to compete, or anything, I just. I don't know. I kind of…know how much that sucks, I guess."

"I'm sorry," the pure sincerity in Steve's eyes was enough to knock Tony flat.

"Uh. Yeah," Tony fidgeted, suddenly aware of how badly he was fucking this conversation up. Apparently, someone upstairs had mercy on him, because Nick Fury, owner of the shop, came out and interrupted them.

"Hey, Carter," Nick greeted, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Hey Nick," Tony waved, grateful for the distraction. He moved around to the side of the car, careful to put some space between him and Steve, "So what's the diagnosis on my baby?"

"Four hundred."

Tony slipped, his hand slamming on the horn of the car.

"Holy mother of god."

"I, uh," Steve stammered, looking between Tony and Nick, lingering on Tony, "I can do the labor free. If that helps."

Great, now he  _pitied_ him. Just what Tony needed, for Steve Rogers to pay attention to him long enough to feel sorry for the invisible little freak. Fuck his  _life._

"It's fine, I'll just talk to my mom about it. Hell, maybe my father's asshole assistant can pay for it," Tony rolled his eyes, "Either way, I'll figure it out. See you guys later."

"Hey, Tony, wait-" Steve quickly spoke up, following Tony out of the garage, and Tony was just as quick to deflect his unnecessary pity.

"No, it's fine, really, I just-"

"But didn't you, um," Steve paused, rubbing a hand to the back of his head in a move that was adorably awkward, "English?"

"I speak it, yeah."

"No," Steve flushed, "I mean, didn't you want to study? Not now, obviously, I just…sometime. If you wanted. But I don't, uh, have your number."

"Oh," Tony blinked. Steve still wanted to study with him? Maybe Tony hadn't completely fucked this up after all, "Pass me your phone?"

Steve fumbled to pull his phone out, some prehistoric piece of crap that gave Tony hives just looking at it.

"Are you shitting me, Rogers?"

"What?" Steve looked panicked, but Tony was too horrified by his phone to notice.

"When did you even  _get_ that, the 1940's?"

"I don't think they had cell phones back then."

"Well, if they did, they looked like that. Come over after school tomorrow, I'll build you a better one while we study."

"Can you do that?" Steve blinked in amazement.

"Multitask?"

"Build a phone."

"I'm a genius, remember?" Tony grinned, "Trust me. I'm almost 63% sure I can build you one that won't explode."

"That's…not as comforting as you seem to think it is."

"C'mon, Rogers, have a little faith," Tony elbowed him playfully.

"This is going to backfire on me horribly, isn't it?" Steve passed Tony his phone anyway, and Tony plugged in his number under 'That Guy Who Hit You In The Face With a Baseball'. Steve laughed when Tony passed it back, and Tony considered it his new life goal to find more ways to make Steve laugh.

"I don't know how to change it," Steve admitted, "So I hope you're proud of that."

"I'm very proud of that. Plus, you'll remember that a lot easier than my name."

"Why wouldn't I remember your name?" Steve gave him a funny sort of look.

"Uh," Tony paused, realizing he'd said that last part out loud, "Well, you know. I'm sure you meet people all the time, and their names get all mixed up in your head, it happens, obviously, and this way the name doesn't pop up and you're like 'who?' and I have to do that totally lame reintroduction thing, and-"

"I know who you are, Tony," Steve gave him an even weirder look, almost like he was simultaneously confused and trying not to burst out laughing.

"Oh," Tony blinked, "Well, cool."

"Don't tell me you don't remember?" now Steve just looked mildly humiliated, and Tony wanted to take back every stupid thing he'd ever said just to get that look off his face, "The last time we were in a nurse's office?"

"What? Freshman year?" Tony burst into a grin, suddenly giddy that Steve actually remembered, "Are you kidding, of course I remember, I had to get fucking stitches!"

"And a sling," a similar grin spread across Steve's face.

"Well you had the mother of all black eyes going for you," Tony snorted, "Swear to god, that thing took up like half your face."

"It wasn't  _that_ bad-"

"Tell yourself what you must, Rogers, but that thing was  _insane._ Worst I've ever seen. But then, that's what you get for picking fights with upperclassmen," Tony elbowed him, "Y'know, you never did tell me what in the hell possessed you to go after him."

"He called Bucky-my friend, the guitarist?-called him a fag. I told him to watch his language, things devolved," Steve shrugged.

"Rainbow supporter, huh?" Tony asked, doing his best to keep his face looking like the picture perfect image of innocence. What? Ulterior motives to his question? Of course not. What a silly idea.

"Yep," Steve pursed his lips, as if debating whether to say more, then at last, "I'm, uh. Gay. So. There's that."

"There's that," Tony echoed, trying not to hyperventilate. Okay, so maybe he had a shot in hell. Like, not quite 50-50, but maybe…21% or so? He could work with that. He could totally work with that. Then, he realized Steve seemed to be waiting for some form of judgment to pass, "Oh, you're not gonna get shit from me, I am too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Tony perked up at the almost hopeful-sounding tones of Steve's voice. Okay, maybe bump that to a 29%. He glanced at his watch for a quick time check, then almost lost his mind, "Shit, I've gotta go, I've got this thing, with my father's ex-assistant person, he's gonna fucking murder me, I'm so ridiculously late, and he's gonna give me shit about Spain and Portugal now, and-fuck it, you don't need to hear about my weird personal stuff, sorry-"

"Uh," Steve blinked at Tony's rambling, mad rush for his things, "I don't mind, it's-"

"I'll text you later, yeah?" Tony shot Steve a quick smile on his way out the door, and Steve returned it.

"Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

Tony's scooter had either stabilized with the fix he'd done this morning or was very kindly refraining from being temperamental, but either way it was enough to propel him to the embassy just on time. Tony fidgeted until they buzzed him in and hastily scampered up the path, only to be told to sit on the couch and wait. Again. Jeez, what was with this guy and making people wait? You'd think he thought he was the King of-

Right.

Tony sighed loudly, announcing his displeasure to the guard at the door, who didn't even bother to look up. Bored and fidgety, Tony's mind of course drifted back to Steve.  _Steve._ God help him. How was he supposed to be alone with him for five minutes and not jump his gorgeous, somehow miraculously gay bones? Well, he had a 29% chance that Steve would react positively at least.

And okay, the fact that Steve, attractive, sweet, boy scout Steve, was gay?  _Someone_ up there had a soft spot for him.

Because if Steve had been straight, as Tony had always assumed, it would have been game over. Tony knew better than anyone you couldn't just "change your mind" about these things-how many times had he tried to convince himself he was straight? How many times had he tried to make out with a girl to get his mind off Steve those first couple of months?

But there was no changing biology: he was gay, and so, apparently, was Steve.

And he could sure make a damn good effort to convince Steve that he was worth a shot. Steve was nice enough to him already, right? He'd given him his number, anyway. And there had been joking! Steve had actually laughed at his stupid jokes! Tony was pretty sure he could die happy now.

Actually, scratch that, he could die happy after studying with Steve. Cause if he could get Steve to hold the book, he could do the lean-over-and-accidentally-get-too-close thing, or the here-let-me-see-that-brush-hands-while-passing-the-book thing. Or the screw-studying-let's-make-out thing.

These thoughts reminded Tony of freshman year, when they'd been laid up in the nurse's, squeezed together on the one cot for almost ten minutes. Tony remembered the way their arms and thighs pressed together, the backs of their hands brushing against each other while they waited for a second cot to become available. He remembered wishing fervently for Darcy what's-her-face to sleep through fifth and sixth period and the rest of forever just so he could stay pressed like that against this stupidly courageous, still-bleeding guy. He even remembered how Steve smelled then, clean and kind of citrusy, like oranges.

He wondered if Steve still smelled like that.

He pulled out his phone, staring at the blank cursor on the open text for a long moment before typing. Then deleting. Then deleting again. And again.

~~_Hey Steve, its Tony, I was wondering if you still wanted to hang out tomor_ ~~

~~_Hey Rogers, it's Tony, I was thinking we should figure out when_ ~~

~~_Hey Rogers, it's Carter, about tomorrow's tutoring thing_ ~~

~~_Hey Steve, what time do you think_ ~~

~~_Hey Rogers_ ~~

~~_Hey Steve_ ~~

Finally, he settled on the simple.

_Hey_

It was several long, panic-inducing minutes before Tony's phone chirped.

_Hey :)_

Oh shit. Why hadn't he thought of a smiley face? He should've put a smiley face, smiley faces make everything seem nicer.

_Still want to help me study tomorrow?_

_Promise minimal explosions?_

_Your loss :P_

_I think I'll learn to cope. Say 3?_

_I've got a thing. 5?_

_Shoot, I've got work at that time during the week. Saturday instead?_

_Works for me. See you then ;)_

Hah! There, he'd gotten in a smiley face, that was-wait.

That wasn't a smiley face.

* * *

What.

Steve looked at his phone. Then he set it down. Then he picked it back up. Then he closed his eyes, counted to ten, and looked at the screen again.

The winky face still stared back at him.

Well, winked back.

What did  _that_ mean? And how was he supposed to reply to it? He didn't want to just mimic what Tony had said. Was he even supposed to reply? Probably not. It was sort of final-sounding. Well, final to the conversation. In terms of other things, it almost sounded like a beginning.

"Rogers!" Nick, his boss, barked, drawing his attention, "Quit looking at your phone and get back to work, would ya?"

"Yes, sir," Steve nodded, quickly tucking his phone in his back pocket.

"And quit grinning like that, it's creepy," Nick snorted, "You're texting that Carter boy, aren't you?"

"What?" Steve flushed.

"Oh please, 'I can do the labor free'," Nick mimicked, his voice going high pitched, "You're sweet on him, huh?"

"Maybe a bit," Steve admitted.

"A bit?" Bucky piped up. He and Sam were still putting away their band equipment. They exchanged glances, and Bucky repeated, " _A bit?"_

"Sounds like it's a little more than a bit," Nick chuckled, glancing at Bucky and Sam, who were snickering in the corner, "You wanna take charge on his car?"

"Sure," Steve tried to shrug nonchalantly, his cheeks heating up against his will, "If you don't mind."

"All yours," Nick gestured to him, "The punk always gets uppity with me, anyway. That one's got a hell of mouth on him."

"Doesn't Steve know it," Sam waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and he and Bucky burst into howling laughter while Steve flushed bright red and threw a rag at Sam's head.

"Jerks," Steve muttered.

* * *

Tony, having humiliated himself enough for the day and refusing to give in to the urge to text Steve again, put away his phone and began to fidget. He started a game he called 'what can I touch while the guard isn't looking', and he gave himself bonus points if it looked like an heirloom, double points if it looked breakable.

He was in the middle of prodding at an angel statue that looked to be worth bonus and double points when he heard his name, startled, and the game came to it's inevitable conclusion: he broke it.

Well, to be fair, he only broke a finger.

They could glue that back, right? Tony glanced around, not seeing any signs of Phillip, or that Pepper chick, or-god forbid-Natasha. The guard was still at his desk, and hadn't even glanced up at the clinking snap that had sounded like an explosion to Tony's panicked ears.

"Anthony?"

Ah, shit, that was Pepper. She would kill him; all brisk-walking and classy clothes and checklists, he had no doubts she was totally one of those professional women who could keep lazy businessmen and eccentric inventors and rich playboys in line with nothing but her sharp tongue and deadly glares. He could totally tell. His mom was similar, though she was more the full frontal, go to blows type, where this chick was a I-will-stab-you-with-my-ten-inch-heels-and-not-even-break-a-sweat type.

Tony was not exactly a child raised on the impression that women were weak.

So, hearing Pepper's voice and promptly-rightly-terrified out of his mind, he shoved the finger he'd broken off into the angels mouth and pranced over to meet Pepper.

"Yes?" he said, smiling as innocently as he could.

"Straight ahead and to your left," Pepper instructed. Her eyes didn't narrow in suspicion exactly, but it was clear she hadn't missed the strangeness of Tony's suddenly angelic behavior.

"Thanks, Pep, you're a doll," Tony winked in a way he hoped was charming, before quickly grabbing his backpack and hustling off in the direction Pepper had indicated.

Unfortunately, she followed.

"Anthony, it's good to see you," Phillip nodded in greeting when Tony entered the library. Before he could answer, Phillip continued, "Pepper, take notes, would you? Anthony, circle so I can evaluate the work that will need to be done."

"Tony," Tony finally got in a word edgewise, "I hate Anthony."

"Anthony," Phillip said pointedly, "Is the name your father gave you, and it's the name I will use to address you. Now circle, if you would."

"Whatever," Tony grumbled.

"Does your bad posture affect your hearing?" Phillip raised an eyebrow at Tony, who scowled, "I asked you to turn."

"Oh yeah, this is great," Tony sighed, but turned as asked, "Go see your dead dad's assistant, mom said. He just wants to tell you something, she said. How bad can it be, she said."

"Do you always mutter to yourself?" Phillip clapped his hands, not waiting for an answer. He seemed to be speaking more to Pepper than to Tony, and Pepper took notes, "That's a horrible habit, we'll have to put an end to that. His complexion seems fine, clear and clean at least. His hair will have to be taken care of-"

"Ex _cuse_ you, it's called style-"

"It's greasy and unkempt, entirely unbefitting a Prince. The same goes for his bushman eyebrows and those cumbersome glasses-"

"They're hip, I like them! And what the hell's wrong with my eyebrows?"

"Ah, language seems to be a problem as well, mark that especially, Pepper," Phillip continued on as if he hadn't heard Tony's protests, "His neck and shoulders are fine; he'll need to learn proper posture, but he has the build for stature. He has broad shoulders and a lean build, the suits will tailor to his figure nicely-"

"My 'figure'," Tony snorted, "I'm not some chick you can play dress-up with-"

"He looks much like his father did at this age. He clearly has his father's eyes of course, as well as much of his facial features, and I would say it's quite likely that resemblance will increase with age. The press and many of the dignitaries will favor that-"

The rest of what Phillip went on to say was lost on Tony, who went stone-still.

He'd never been told he looked like his father.

He knew that theoretically his father had given him half of his genetic code, so of course there would be similarities. He'd just…never considered it. He'd never seen his father in person, not on a birthday or a holiday, and after maybe nine or ten years old, he'd stopped hoping to. He got presents and cards, of course, every year, but it was never the same. Even though Tony didn't have anything to compare it to, he knew that wasn't how things were supposed to be.

Fathers were supposed to be more than a stuffed elephant and a scribbled 'happy birthday, kiddo'.

Now he had something, a piece of his father more transcendent than stuffed toys and ink on a card; his eyes.

 _He had his father's eyes._  This unbelievable concept bounced through his mind like a pinball, knocking down everything else. He had his father's eyes. How had he looked in a mirror for almost sixteen years and never realized that before? His mom had brown eyes too, but now that he was thinking, now that he was looking for it, hers were much darker than his. His were checkered light and dark, with little flecks of gold and green in them sometimes-her hazel eyed boy, she'd always said.

Had she called his father that?

Man, maybe. Her hazel eyed man, then, until he wasn't, until he was a million miles away running a fucking country instead of baking gingersnaps on holidays and playing catch out back on the fourth of July and teaching him to fix his first circuit breaker. Or maybe he hadn't liked mom's Christmas gingersnaps. Maybe he was as shit at sports as Tony was. Maybe he didn't know how to fix a circuit breaker.

But did it really matter? He should have been there anyway. He should have made silly, grossed-out faces behind mom's back at the too-cinnamony cookies until a wiggly, pudgy little toddler Tony laughed and gave it all away, while mom smacked him with a spatula like you always saw people doing in the advertisements on tv.

He should've tried to play catch anyway, even if they both sucked, and played chase-the-ball-before-it-goes-down-the-gutter until a rosy-cheeked child Tony became exhausted and curled up in his lap to doze off and drool on his brand new shirt, while he and mom linked hands and watched the fireworks like their life was the happy ending of a cheesy romantic comedy.

He should've learned how to fix a circuit breaker, or at least driven the many trips back and forth to the library for engineering study and preparation, and driven the ride to the hospital when an awkward pre-teen Tony electrocuted himself half to death anyway, while he and mom shared a worried sigh in the front seat, the kind of sigh you see parents exchanging in tv shows where the kid does something stupid but it's  _your_ kid and that makes everything worth it.

But he wasn't there, and those things didn't happen like that. Tony did electrocute himself, but his mom drove to the hospital alone, no one to share her worry with. It was his mom's greasy ex-boyfriend Jeff who'd played catch with Tony that fourth of July, but he'd had no patience for Tony's ineptitude and given up after the fifth missed catch. It was Tony's pudgy fingers that had been smacked with a spatula year after year when he tried to dip into the dough.

It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't Howard, but he supposed it was something.

"Anthony," Phillip snapped his fingers, "Are you listening?"

"Uh, what?" Tony blinked, raising a hand, "Here?"

"Who has  _nails_ like those?" Phillip exclaimed, clearly shocked, grabbing Tony's hand and twisting it to show Pepper Tony's bitten, chewed nails.

"Oh," Tony yanked his hand back, "Yeah. I bite my nails when I'm thinking. Or stressing. So, always."

"We'll definitely have to clean those up," Phillip sighed, gesturing for Pepper to take that down, "And I never want to see those shoes again."

"What, my converse? No fair, these are my favorite-!"

"For how long have they been your favorite?" Phillip curled a lip, "They look decades old."

Part of that was how dirty Tony's dungeon could be, another part was how often he walked/scootered to school, and the biggest part would be that he didn't own another pair of shoes. He said as much, but Phillip just waved him off, saying they would buy him new shoes. Then they began the posture lesson.

"When walking in a crowd, one is under constant scrutiny," Phillip began, demonstrating the walk.

Tony mimicked him, trying to flounce lightly on his feet. Phillip clearly didn't appreciate it, and mocked him in turn, slumping over until his hands almost touched the ground.

"Don't slump like this," he chastised, straightening up, "Drop the shoulders, think tall, chin up. Your ears, shoulders, hips, knees, and ankles should make one straight line-"

Tony was boreeed…he began to make various faces behind Phillip's back for his own amusement, then he caught sight of Pepper's face. Oh, this was too good. Miss prim and proper was just barely hiding a smirk, but Tony knew a hidden grin when he saw one. He continued sneering, wiggling his tongue and crossing his eyes until Pepper outright snorted.

Phillip, without turning, told Tony to knock it off or he'd have him running laps to maintain his Princely physique.

Tony knocked it off.

Next was sitting, which, apparently, was a lesson. Phillip gestured for him to take a seat in one of the two dining chairs he'd pulled up, and Tony did, causing Phillip to give an exasperated sigh.

"Good lord, you sit like a common streetwalker."

"I'm sorry, did you just call me a whore?"

"You sit like one," Phillip huffed, "Now close your legs, for goodness sakes'. Tuck one ankle behind the other, or cross your legs if you like, it doesn't matter as long as they stay  _closed."_

"Whatever," Tony huffed, trying the ankle-crossing thing, only to end up wiggling his way right off the chair.

Phillip was unfazed, simply giving a long-suffering sigh and turning to Pepper.

"I think it's time for tea."

* * *

"Tell me, again, how you, or, any sane person, really, goes into a parent-teacher conference and comes out with a  _date?_ " Tony curled up into the couch with a groan, "It's not enough I'm some kind of Prince, now you've got to date my teachers, too? Between you and Steve you're gonna hit every teenage angst button in existence."

"Isn't that the boy that almost got you suspended last year?"his mom instantly abandoned her painting and joined him on the couch, a gleam in her eye.

Tony had never directly told her he was madly in love with Steve, but they were very close and his mother was very smart. When he'd come home from school in need of stitches and a sling for defending a boy less than a month after coming out to her, she put the pieces together.

Tony pulled the blanket over his head with another, louder groan. Him and his big fat mouth.

"Yahmybwhtvrh'sjstevrythIevrwntdnthwrld," Tony mumbled indecipherably into the blanket.

"Tell me everything," Peggy demanded matter-of-factually, tugging the blanket off Tony's head.

"He's just being his even-more-perfect-than-usual self," Tony sighed, relinquishing the blanket, "That's all."

"Oh come on, you've held out on me for a year, and now he's 'pressing your teenage angst buttons', something must have-" she paused, then fixed him with a look, "Is that a sex thing? Because I have some pamphlets, we can talk abou-"

" _No!"_ Tony blurted, horrified, "Never.  _Ever._ I have the internet, I'm totally good. Besides, does staring at his perfectness while pretending to hide behind my locker for a year even count as share-with-your-mom news? In that case, you're right, I've been holding out on you."

"Alright, tell me  _how_  he's perfect, then," she smiled, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear affectionately.

"He's just... _Steve._ For a while he was just a scrap of a thing, looked like stray wind could knock him over, but he's tough. I mean, he didn't have a drop of muscle on him, but the inside kind of tough, y'know? He never let anyone get picked on, even when the kid getting picked on was twice his size. He always stood up for the underdog, always did the right thing, even when he thought no one was watching. And he may have been small, but he was…" Tony paused, blushing a little, "Handsome, even then. He has these like, ridiculously blue eyes, and he never looked at me, but the couple of times he did…it was like he looked into my soul, or something else stupid and cheesy. He's just…really  _earnest_ about everything. Sincere."

"Sounds pretty perfect," Peggy admitted, "But I bet he has his flaws."

"Yeah," Tony grunted, "He shot up six feet and grew muscles and now everyone  _knows_ he's perfect."

"Ah," she nodded sagely, "Jealousy. Teenage angst button number one."

"Throw in pining, lack of money and Prince lessons, and you have my day," Tony sighed, "Oh, did I mention I hit him in the face with a baseball?"

"Tony!" she sat up straight, "I know you like him, but that's not an appropriate way to get someone's attention-"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Tony protested, "Honest! I'm just…shit at sports."

"Language," she chided, but she was hiding a laugh, "Well, go on. What'd he say?"

"He was nice about it, of course," Tony rolled his eyes, "Perfect, remember? I took him to the nurse's. Somewhere along the way he offered to help me with English, actually. Is it okay if he comes over this Saturday?"

"Tony!" she exclaimed, hitting his arm with a scandalized face, " _Lead_ with that!"

"What?" Tony grinned.

"How did I raise such a melodramatic little brat?" she wondered to herself, "Here you go making him sound like some unattainable god, and he's coming to the loft this weekend to tutor you!"

"Hey, you're assuming I won't scare him off between now and then," Tony pointed out with a grin, "That's a lot of assumptions."

"Oh, shush," she chuckled and stood, taking the blanket with her, "Now come on, off to bed with you. You've got a long day tomorrow, if you've got Prince lessons  _and_ Steve-scaring to do."

* * *

 _Gym,_ Tony thought to himself as another soccer ball bounced off his skull,  _Was invented specifically to torture me._

"Just one, Anthony!" Coach Thor boomed, "There were twenty shots at you, could you not manage to block just one?"

"The twenty soccer balls aimed at my face was kind of the problem!" Tony shot back aggressively, "I can't do it, okay? My hand-eye coordination has got to be literally zero."

"Fine," Coach Thor heaved a sigh, "You shall go again later. Steven!"

Tony's head shot up.

"Yeah Coach?"

Steve jogged over, all rippling pecs and glorious thighs exposed by the too-tight gym uniform; he hadn't had time to get a new one since the growth spurt, it seemed. Not that he would ever get a new one, if Tony had any say. He burn the supply shed to the ground if he had to.

"You shall take Anthony's place, it seems he's no good with balls," Coach Thor sighed.

Tony's face went bright red at the unexpected innuendo/insult, and he started to stammer out a denial, before clamping his mouth shut. There was literally nothing he could say to that that wouldn't just dig him into a deeper hole. Between the accidental winky face Steve had never replied to and Coach's innuendo, Tony was ready to burst into flames of embarrassment. Steve, the bastard, just grinned at him.

"Dirty mind there, 'Steven'?" Tony muttered.

"Didn't say a thing," Steve just hummed innocently, passing by him on his way to the goal, "I guess I'm just better with balls than you are."

Tony was pretty sure he was high on hallucinogenics right now, because Steve motherfucking Rogers did  _not_ just say that to him.

But Steve was already in the goalbox, grinning defiantly at him, gesturing for Tony to kick one at him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Tony raised an eyebrow, "I've already sent you to the nurse's once."

"Twice, actually," Steve chuckled, "And I think I'll be okay. I survived before, didn't I?"

"The first time was entirely your fault. It was  _your_ tiny ass that needed rescuing, remember?"

"Tiny? What happened to muscular?" Steve laughed, and Tony's face suddenly felt very hot. He swiftly kicked the ball hard as he could, but Steve just caught it, cushioning it against his chest with a laugh.

Winky faces, Tony knew now, were very, very dangerous.

* * *

"Phillip?" Tony questioned.

"Yes?" Phillip looked up from his papers to glance down the dining table at Tony, raising one eyebrow dryly.

"Is it customary in Genovia to imprison your dinner guests with Hermes scarves?"

Tony was currently tied up, his chest pressed against back of the dining room chair while a feast was served in front of him. He counted at least four forks, three glasses, and two knives. What the  _fuck._ He'd been imprisoned for the last twenty minutes, and had still not been able to reach a single item on his plate.

"It's Hermés," Phillip corrected his pronunciation without missing a beat, returning to his paperwork, "And this is merely a training tool. Eventually you'll learn how to eat properly without it."

Tony tried to reach for something again, and felt the scarf pin him back. He tried to wiggle, and the scarf just inched up to his neck, choking him. Phillip didn't seem to notice.

"Manners," he insisted, pointing his pen at Tony for punctuation, "Matter."

"Does air matter?" Tony choked out.

"I suppose that's enough etiquette for one day," Phillip just sighed, closing his folder of paperwork, "Pepper, untie Anthony and have him meet me in the ballroom."

When Tony had been unwrapped and ushered into the ballroom, he found Phillip and Natasha waiting for him expectantly.

"Now, Genovia does quite a bit of trade with Spain," Phillip began, "So we prepare for that. The quickest way to a Spanish heart is through dance."

"What kind of dance do you do?" Natasha questioned, taking him by the wrist and leading him onto the floor.

"Uh," Tony flustered. He'd never actually danced with a girl. Or a guy, for that matter. Or anyone, other jumping on the bed with his mom to the Dixie Chicks while she threw paint darts, not that he'd ever tell anyone that ever, "Y'know. The dancing kind of dance?"

He tucked his hands in his pockets and bobbed his head a bit in demonstration.

"To be considered a dance, doesn't one have to move their feet?" Phillip pointed out, and Tony scowled.

"I haven't really danced all that much, okay? Guys aren't exactly lining up to ask me to prom."

It occurred to Tony belatedly that Natasha hadn't previously known that he was gay, but if she'd registered the comment's implications, or was surprised at all, she didn't show it.

Tony decided he liked her.

"Well," Phillip simply waved a hand, clicking the stereo on, "It's time for you to learn."

A lilting, classically-influenced piano piece came on, and Tony tried not to groan.

"This dance," Natasha ignored Tony's reaction and pulled him towards her, "Is between a waltz and a tango."

They had a fair amount of distance between them still, and she placed his hand on her waist and her hand on his shoulder. She was crisp and professional in her movements as she joined their other hands together, then in the brief space between when they got into position and began dancing, if was as if she became liquid. While Tony stumbled and faltered to follow her, she led with impeccable grace, her every movement effortlessly fluid.

"I'm going to spin," she murmured a warning, beginning to spin while Tony let his arm out as to best let her continue doing her thing. He stepped forward like he was supposed to for the dance, and she didn't have time to move away before her elbow slammed into his ribcage.

Tony let out a low groan, and she moved away with an apology.

"When spinning your partner, you cease the other movements," she explained, "I should have warned you."

"'s all good," Tony squeaked.

They continued for another half hour before Phillip raised a hand, signaling the end.

"Very good, Anthony," he smiled, "You may go now."

"Great, thanks!" Tony grinned, grabbing his backpack and bolting, poking his head back in with a grin at the last second, "And thanks for my first dance, Nat!"

Phillip chuckled, while Natasha just rolled her eyes fondly.

* * *

The rest of Steve's week came and went in a blur, only made memorable by his brief but increasingly frequent encounters with Tony. By the time Thursday rolled around, they'd bumped into each other approximately 17 times, not that Steve was counting or anything. It was mostly passing hellos and bumped shoulders, but Steve remembered each encounter in high definition detail.

They'd even spent lunch together this afternoon, and now Steve was walking Tony to his fifth period now-and okay, he might have fudged the truth and said he was headed in the same direction when in fact his class was halfway across the school, but whatever, priorities. A guy with short blond hair and a disheveled uniform raced up to them, elbowing Tony in the ribs in the middle of a sentence.

"-and then I- _oof,"_ Tony huffed, turning to glare at the guy balefully, "Jesus,  _what,_ asshole?"

Steve blinked in surprise; Tony was usually a bit nicer than that, but then, the guy  _had_  just elbowed him pretty hard. Did they know each other?

"It's the only way to get your head out of the clouds these days," the guy demanded, "And I need to know if you're coming to my petition after school today."

"The archery thing?"

"Yes, the archery thing," the guy insisted, "Did you wash your brain with bleach this morning, dipshit?"

"Hey, watch how you talk to him-" Steve made to step in, because that was taking it a little far and frankly, he didn't like the way this guy was talking to Tony, but Tony quickly pulled Steve back by the arm.

"No, no, I know this asshole," Tony waved him off, "Clint Barton, Steve Rogers."

"Yeah, I know who he is," Clint snorted at him, and Steve just frowned. He didn't think they'd ever met, though now that he thought about it, he saw him and Tony together an awful lot.

Oh God, were they…?

"Clint, back off," Tony rolled his eyes, "And I can't do it today anyway, I've got a thing."

"A  _thing?_ Is this a  _Steve_ thing?" Clint demanded, "Cause friends before-"

"Clint, I swear to god I will murder you," Tony hissed, and Steve just blinked between them in confusion. This was getting weirder and weirder, and now he couldn't get his mind off the horrible revelation that they might be  _together,_ that Tony might be taken and he was infringing and- "No, it's not a Steve thing, he was just walking with me to class. It's my father's ex-assistant's thing, we have to talk about some stuff I guess."

"That's not vague or anything," Clint huffed, "Look, I know you're all into keeping secrets and whatever now, but if you're just trying to blow me off, I will not be ignored, Tones, this is important to me-!"

"I'm not trying to blow you off, don't be so dramatic," Tony rolled his eyes, tugging Steve along by his sleeve, "I'll text you later, okay? I promise, I'll help you with the petition soon!"

"Yeah, whatever!"

"Uh," Steve said as soon as they were alone again.

"Just my asshole best friend," Tony rolled his eyes, "He's not usually  _that_ much of an asshole, but I keep putting off helping him with this petition he's got, so he's kind of mad at me right now."

"Oh," Steve nodded, "He's not…I mean, you two aren't…fonduing?"

It took Tony a minute to get it, but when he did, he doubled over laughing.

"I'm sorry,  _what_ did you call it?" Tony managed to get out between gasps of laughter, "You're freaking  _adorable,_ you know that? The look on your face _-_ "

Steve's cheeks went bright pink, but Tony didn't seem to notice, mainly due to his insane laughter. In spite of his embarrassment, he had to admit he liked hearing Tony laugh like that. It didn't sound like Tony was making fun of him, just…enjoying him, his company. His apparently very weird phrasing.

"Jesus Christ, no, we're not 'fonduing'. Never have. I've known him since we were both in diapers, and that is just too weird to fathom," Tony said at last, when he managed to contain himself, "And where in the hell did you get  _that_ phrase?"

"I grew up with my grandma," Steve shrugged, his cheeks still faintly warm, "She used it as a substitute, and I kind of picked it up."

" _That's_ why you're always going on with all the 'gosh' and 'darn' and shit, huh?"

"I swear," Steve admitted, then shot Tony a pointed look, "Just not as often as  _some_ people."

"Aw shucks, mister," Tony grinned, and Steve couldn't help but grin back.

Then the bell went off.

 _I'm in so much trouble_ , Steve thought as he raced across campus, glancing back over his shoulder to get one last glimpse of Tony's smile,  _And in so, so many ways._


	4. Chapter 4

Tony raced across the lawn, ignoring the multilingual warnings that blared, and darted into the embassy.

"You can feel me up later, Jarvis!" Tony declared, brushing off the butler/bodyguard he'd named Jarvis since he refused to give Tony his real name, "I'm late!"

"You're late," Phillip announced gravely as Tony burst into the room, the new shoes Phillip had insisted he buy sliding across the marble.

"I know," Tony said, hands in the air apologetically, "And I'm sorry-"

"No matter, we haven't time for your excuses," Phillip waved him off, turning to Pepper, "Now, where is Jasper?"

"Send in Jasper Sitwell," Pepper nodded to the guards, who opened the second door.

"Bonjour!" a man in all black entered, two women at his side, greeting them all with a jaunty wave, "These are my assistants Gretchen and Helga. Ah, your highness! And how are you?"

He dropped to one knee, kissing Phillip's hand with…enthusiasm.

"Let's not waste time," Phillip quickly withdrew his hand, though he remained unruffled as ever, "Let the work begin."

"Yes, of course. And where is this handsome Prince?"

"May I introduce the late King's son, Anthony Stark," Phillip gestured to Tony.

Jasper turned to get a look at him, and promptly shrieked.

Well.

That was rude.

"Uh," Jasper blinked owlishly, "Inner beauty is very popular these days, yes?"

Tony frowned.

"Now, we have a limited amount of time until the ball," Phillip said.

"Busy, busy," Jasper murmured, sifting through Tony's hair with his meaty hands, "Frizzy, frizzy. We have  _much_  work to do."

"Sir?" Pepper placed a hand on Phillip's elbow, "The Genovian press secretary is waiting for your call."

"Right, well, I'll come back and be surprised then, I suppose," Phillip turned to Pepper while Jasper busied himself, and in a hushed, darkly warning tone, "Pepper, watch him like a hawk."

"Of course," Pepper gave a clipped nod.

Jasper began work, assembling all sorts of hair products and devices Tony had never seen in his life. Jasper poked and prodded at him for a while, attempting to comb his frizzy mess of hair. He even snapped a brush at one point, nearly ripping out a chunk of Tony's hair as he did so.

"Do you wear contact lenses?" Jasper questioned, taking Tony's glasses off and examining them.

"I have them, but I don't really like to wear them that often," Tony shrugged. They were a pain in the ass, and frankly, he liked his glasses.

Which Jasper promptly snapped in half, "Now you do."

"Hey!" Tony exclaimed, "You broke my glasses!"

"You broke my brush," Jasper shrugged.

Next they attacked Tony's eyebrows. He flinched and squawked complaints the whole way through, but Jasper just kept talking.

"If Brooke Shields married the Groucho Marx, their child would have your eyebrows!"

"I have no-ow, fuck!-idea what that mea-Jesus Christ, watch it!"

They washed and then attacked his hair with a straightener, nearly burning his ears at least a dozen times before deciding to just cut his hair instead. The girls Jasper had brought in set to work on his nails-in spite of Tony's complaints that he was not, in fact, a chick-while Jasper clipped and snipped until Tony's hair was short and choppy, a bit longer in the front for a styled spike.

When they revealed the new look to Phillip, he nodded his approval.

"It's still very young," Phillip examined Tony, "But I think it suits you better than an older hairstyle would, and it's still far more appropriate your raggedy mess from before."

Tony just grinned; he couldn't wait to see the look on Clint's face.

* * *

Tony was bouncing with excitement in the back seat of the limo.

It was Friday morning, and Steve had texted him last night asking if there was any way he could get a ride. Was it a little weird that it'd be in a limo? Sure. Whatever. It still meant seeing Steve, so Tony hadn't exactly hesitated to say yes. He'd mentioned his father's secretary had him driving around in a limo, gotten Steve's address-same apartment complex as Clint, coincidentally-and texted Steve blissfully for another five hours before admitting that yeah, okay, 2am might be a little late for a school night, and let Steve sleep.

Now Natasha was pulling up to the curb of the apartment complex, and Tony tried to pull himself together. Steve was walking down the walkway, Clint a couple yards behind him; play it cool, Tony, come on. Smooth.

While Tony composed himself, Clint greeted Steve in his usual fashion.

"Hey, my limo, no touchy," Clint scowled at Steve.

"Your…? Oh, do you ride with Tony? He, uh, offered to give me a ride, I think I'm going with you?" Steve scratched the back of his head awkwardly, opening the door for Clint in a peace offering.

Then he caught sight of Tony, and nearly had a heart attack.

"Don't always think you can get a ride with us, y'know. This is the cool kids lim-" Clint huffed to Steve, moving to get into the limo…then he saw Tony, "Holy shit. Who the fuck are you?"

"Shut up," Tony grinned, absent-mindedly fixing his hair self-consciously, "How bad is it?"

"You look like a shark," Clint leaned in close, peering at Tony intently.

"An attractive shark," Steve murmured, because apparently he was out of his god damn mind.

Tony openly stared at Steve, who instantly began regret ever even learning how to talk, while Clint just blew past them both to hop into the limo and start yammering.

"Great, your boyfriend's into fish," Clint rolled his eyes, "That's not weird or anything. The haircut's good though, kinda strange, but good. More importantly, why is Muscles over here in my limo? Is this gonna be a thing? Wait, shit, are  _you_ a thing? Cause that's super not cool Tones, you're supposed to tell me these things-"

"We're not," Steve blurted hastily, attempting to make up for the stupid attractive comment.

Tony had clearly not taken it well, since he was still sitting there, awkwardly jammed up next to Steve and  _staring_ at him. Steve had planned on asking Tony to the dance sometime during the trip to school-which he'd stupidly assumed they'd be alone for-but maybe it wasn't the best idea. Maybe winky faces didn't mean anything. They were just…like smiley faces, but friendlier. And Tony was a very friendly guy, obviously. It didn't mean anything, and Steve should stop reading into stupid things like that. Because if Tony's slack-jawed staring was anything to go by, Steve's failed attempts at flirting were not appreciated.

 _God_ he wished he could learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Oh. Really? Well, that's stupid," Clint just rolled his eyes at Steve, who had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Then Clint's attention was distracted by the driver, and he scooted forward in the limo until he was only a few inches from the redhead, "Ignore them and their stifling UST, let's talk about ours."

What was a UST? Did Tony have one? Steve didn't, not that he knew about.

In response to Clint's flirting, the redhead slammed on the brakes, sending the un-seat-belted Clint flying into the back.

"Apologies," the redhead said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

Steve stifled a laugh, and caught Tony doing the same.

"Baby, why do you hurt me so? You know we're meant to be!" Clint declared, pressing a hand to his heart dramatically.

"I know you're meant to wear a seatbelt in a moving vehicle," she replied dryly, though Steve was pretty sure he saw the corner of her mouth tick up in what might have been a smile.

Clint kept up these antics throughout the car ride, leaving Steve and Tony to snicker together in the back. Steve found himself warming up to Clint as the car ride went on; though he cursed a blue streak and could be startlingly brash, he seemed altogether pretty harmless, even funny. He reminded him quite a bit of Bucky, actually.

Eventually, they were dropped a block from the school, something about Tony not wanting to cause a riot with the limo. Clint hung back to wave and blow kisses to the driver, while Steve and Tony fell in step next to each other.

"What, uh," Steve paused, glancing to the ground and steeling his courage. He had to do this, he knew he'd regret it if he didn't, "What're you doing this Saturday night?"

"Tomorrow night?" Tony looked at him curiously, "You mean, other than studying English?"

"Yeah," Steve blushed, scratching the back of his neck. Time to go for broke, "After that, I meant. It's just, well, there's the. Uh. Dance."

Tony was staring at him again, and Steve tried not to take it personally.

"The dance," Tony said carefully, as if testing the waters.

"Yeah," Steve confirmed, "The beach thing. Beach Jam? I don't know what it's called, I just, I have tickets. If you wanted to go. With, uh. Me."

"With you," Tony echoed.

"With me," Steve repeated, feeling stupider and stupider by the minute.

Oh God, this was the worst idea ever. Tony probably wasn't even interested, and here he'd gone and pushed his hand, right after  _finally_ starting to talk to the guy. Now they probably wouldn't even be able to stay friends, since he hadn't let himself become established as that before pushing for more. And seriously, why was Tony still  _staring_ at him like that, like he crazy or stupid or both, God, definitely both, this was seriously his worst idea ever-

" _Yes,"_ Tony suddenly blurted, then backtracked, "Uh. I mean, yeah. Y'know. If you want."

"Yeah," Steve couldn't contain his grin, "Yeah."

_Yeah, I definitely want._

"Okay then," Tony hummed, biting his lip in a way that did very nice things to Steve's circulation.

"Oh, did I mention the parts for your baby came in yesterday?"

"What?" Tony gripped Steve's arm, his eyes lighting up with excitement, "They did? You asshole, why didn't you tell me that first?"

"So if you said yes to the dance, I could suggest we put it together, uh, together," Steve admitted, hoping Tony would hold on to his arm even just a minute longer.

"Well," to his utter delight, instead of releasing his arm, Tony tucked his arm around Steve's as he talked, " _Duh._ Hell yeah we should. More importantly, will there be pizza?"

"Of course," Steve chuckled, "Pizza's a given."

"With M&M's?" Tony grinned, nudging him with his elbow.

"With M&M's," Steve nodded affirmatively, "On the pizza, if you can handle it."

"Oh," Tony smirked challengingly, "I think I can handle it. You think  _you've_  got a sweet tooth? You got nothing on me."

Before Steve could say anything in reply, Clint was calling to them from a block back.

"Whoo-hoo! Hey cuddle-bunnies, remember me?"

Tony unfortunately released Steve's arm, and he grappled to get one last confirmation before Clint joined them.

"Saturday though, it's-?"

"It's a date," Tony smiled widely, and Steve couldn't help but return it giddily.

"Wait for me!" Clint called, shoving someone out of the way to catch up, "Not you, I don't even  _know_ you."

"Clint, stop shoving strangers," Tony called.

"Stop abandoning me for your beau then, dickwad!"

Steve noticed, to his surprise and amusement, that Tony  _blushed_ at that _._ Steve smiled privately to himself, even as Clint squeezed between him and Tony.

"Hey Thing 1 and 2, you mind? Hate to crash a party, but  _you,_ " Clint jammed a finger at Tony's chest, "Never told me why you missed helping me with my petition yesterday."

"Sorry, it was a-"

"Do  _not_ say it was thing with your dad's assistant," Clint groaned, "Seriously, does that guy own your soul or something? I'm pretty sure we can send Steve in to kick his ass and get it back."

"I'm game," Steve shrugged with a laugh, having learned to take most of what Clint said as a joke.

"That's the spirit! Guess you're alright, Muscles," Clint slapped him on the back with a grin, apparently starting to warm up to him, "What d'ya say, Tones?"

"He doesn't own my soul," Tony rolled his eyes.

"Look, Tony," Clint seemed to sober for a minute, "C'mon. I'm not stupid. Something going on with you, and if it's not big blonde and beautiful over here, then what the hell is it?"

Steve opened his mouth to reply to Clint's comment, but Tony overrode him.

"It's, it's just a  _thing,"_ Tony stumbled, "Look, I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"What you can't tell  _me?_ If it's blondie here, I can make him go away, muscles don't scare me, I'm a like a ninja, all crafty and shit, can't pin me down-"

"It's not Steve," Tony said, then when Steve looked at him curiously, he insisted, "Really, it's not you. It's just…okay, if I tell you guys, you can't tell a  _soul."_

"I don't talk to dead people anyway," Clint shrugged.

"Shut up, I'm serious," Tony scowled.

"I promise," Steve nodded earnestly.

"Me too," Clint pitched in with his usual eloquence, and Tony relented.

"Alright," he sighed, "You guys asked for it…"

It took nearly ten minutes to tell from start to finish, but when Tony finished his story, he had two pair of eyes on him, wide and disbelieving.

Clint was the first to speak.

"Will you come on my cable show?"

"Is that all you have to say, asshole?" Tony shot him a glare, but it was hard not to grin. It was just such a…Clint reaction, "And I can't, it's a royal secret."

Steve was still staring. He knew, rationally, that he was staring. And yet, he couldn't stop, mainly because the only functioning part of his brain was busy screaming  _you just asked out a fucking Prince._

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

"Uh," Steve blinked. He grappled for something more wordy, more eloquent, but all that came out was, "Um. Wow."

"Scared you off already?" Tony joked weakly. Something in his voice, the way he was looking at Steve, told him it wasn't really a joke.

Steve remembered the other, very important half of that thought:  _you just asked out a fucking Prince, and he said yes._

"No," Steve assured him quickly, "No. Just, uh. Need a minute to process, here."

"Take your time," Tony nodded just as quick, "All the time you want. Let's just, get to class then, I guess. We can talk more later?"

"Yeah," Steve answered, but it was soft, still kind of shocked.

They made their way to Shield High's front entrance, to find a bunch of news vans and reporters hunting around.

"What do you think's going on?"

"Maybe they caught wind of my petition!" Clint said excitedly.

"Maybe," Tony snorted, then caught one of the reporters, "Hey, who're you waiting for?"

In the blink of an eye, he was engulfed by the crowd. They were chanting and jeering and shouting, look over here, Prince, what's your opinion on this, Prince, and how do feel about that, Prince. Tony wanted to scream, wanted to grab at Clint or Steve and just hold on for dear life but he'd already been separated, cut off from them.

He couldn't even find their faces in the crowd, couldn't see anything but the cameras and microphones jammed in his face. Voices shouted at him from all directions, and Tony thought he was going to go temporarily blind if he looked into one more camera flash.

He was backed against a wall now, and he could feel the scratch of the wall against his back as he pressed into it, away from, from _everything._ The reporters pressed even closer, and Tony was hyperventilating now, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything but bright, pinpricks of light-

Then, out of nowhere, there was Steve. He pushed his way though through the vultures that had Tony backed into a corner, tucked him under his arm and shoved his way back out like some sort of guardian angel, his hand spread across Tony's back like a protective wing.

Outside the circle Clint was waiting, and they both did their level best to propel Tony through the hall and into the principal's. Steve did so by keeping Tony under one arm, the other out like a linebacker, ready to slam anyone who got in his way up against a wall. Clint did so by shouting obscenities and breaking every camera he got his hands on.

They made it to the office with minimal hassle, and Tony sunk into one of the seats while the principal, Maria Hill, gave him a sympathetic look.

"You haven't seen this morning's paper, have you?"

She passed him one, the title  _San Francisco's Very Own Prince_ blaring back at him accusingly. Clint collapsed into the other chair, apparently tuckered out from throwing camera's at reporter's heads, and Steve stood behind Tony, one hand staying on Tony's shoulder, a heavy, reassuring weight that anchored him down.

Which was when Coach Thor burst in.

"The King has arrived."

* * *

When Phil pulled up the corner of Shield High School, he was immediately accosted by reporters. He sighed, far too used to it. Natasha opened his door, her frosty death glare enough to keep even the most adventurous ones out of touching distance. This berth was maintained through the halls, and when he arrived in the principal's office, he couldn't help but sigh again at the sight.

Anthony looked as if he'd aged ten years since Phil saw him just yesterday. He looked harassed and shell-shocked, clearly scared and out of his depth. Phil hadn't meant for any of this to happen so soon; there was supposed to be another week before the announcement, more time to prepare Anthony for the lengths of invasion the press would all too often go to.

The principal, Maria Hill, offered him her chair, and he accepted. With Anthony were two boys, a gangly blonde sprawled out in the other guest chair, and another blonde, taller and with a more muscular build. This one had a hand somewhat possessively on Anthony's shoulder, absent-mindedly rubbing circles with his thumb while watching Anthony with worried eyes.

The mechanic, then.

Anthony's mother was next to enter the room, followed quickly by Natasha, who dragged Jasper by the ear behind her.

"I found this trash hanging around out front chatting with the press," Natasha pursed her lips in a way that would on anyone else be a disgusted sneer, "We had words. He has something to confess."

She released his ear, shoving him forward.

"It was I," he hung his head in shame, "I'm afraid I was the one to out you, Prince Anthony."

"You did this?" the mechanic growled, releasing Anthony's shoulder to clench his fists at Jasper. Anthony looked surprised at the reaction, while the gangly blonde just rolled his eyes.

"Ah, about the Princehood, so to speak," Jasper corrected himself, looking between Anthony and the mechanic as almost everyone now was, "I did not mean to imply…other things. Though, how scandalous, yes? The Prince not only with a male but a commoner-"

"Get out of here!"

Anthony snapped at that, anger and worry intertwined in his eyes, a quick glance to the mechanic telling Phil exactly where the worry came from. Apparently Anthony couldn't see the mechanic's intentions towards him as clearly as everyone else could.

For a brief moment it almost looked as if the mechanic would be the one to step forward and force Jasper out as Anthony wished, but of course Natasha beat him to it.

"The Prince does not accept your half-hearted apologies," she shoved him out the door and into the reporters lying in wait, knocking more than one over, "Consider yourself fired."

She slammed the door behind him, and went about closing all the blinds.

"If you wouldn't mind, Principal Hill, I'd like to speak with you about your security measures. They are a bit too lax, for my tastes," Natasha then took Principal Hill by the elbow and walked her out, already detailing her plan to revamp security.

That left Phil alone with Anthony, his friends, and his mother.

"Well," the gangly blonde blew a huff of air, "This day just keeps getting crazier."

"That's not helpful, Clinton," Peggy chastised the boy. Clinton…Phil remembered that name, Anthony had mentioned it as his friend a few times. Well, he'd said Clint, but Phil supposed that was the boy's nickname.

"And you're not the one having a hard day, either," the mechanic added with a pointed look in Clinton's direction. Clinton held his hands up in surrender.

"A week ago, Tony was just a normal kid, and now-" Peggy began, already upset, but Phil interrupted.

"He has never been normal," he made it a point that they remembered that, "He was born royal. We cope with the press every day, and we will do it now. I'd hoped to have more time to prepare you, but this is a fact of your life now, Anthony."

"You don't have to do this," Peggy shot a glare in Phil's direction before facing her son, "This was not a part of the deal. If you want to be done, Tony, you can be."

"She's right," Phil acknowledged, "This was not what you agreed to. If you want to disavow your Princehood, you may."

Anthony looked between Phil and Peggy for a long moment, gauging his options. He was clearly still shaken by the whole thing, and he looked to the mechanic, who took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Phil and Peggy most certainly noticed, but politely remained silent. Clinton did not.

"Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker," Clinton swore, "When did that happen?"

The mechanic seemed to be hiding a smile, while Anthony simply ignored him entirely.

"I'll think about it, and let you know soon," he addressed Phil's question.

"It seems you've been learning well, at least," Phil gave a nod of approval, "A very diplomatic answer, there. Polite, but vague. Are we still to expect you at tonight's dinner, then?"

The look on Anthony's face told Phil quite clearly that in all the chaos of the morning, he'd forgotten. It was the practice run of it all, a formal dinner with foreign dignitaries where he would have been announced first, a week before the real thing where the press would have found out.

"Uh," Anthony froze, then, when the mechanic squeezed his hand again, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

* * *

"So I've made a list," Clint announced his presence.

Tony made an annoyed, groaning noise of exasperation, "Busy here!"

He and Steve were hiding out in the abandoned bleachers behind the school. Steve had continued to be his guardian angel the whole day, texting him reassurances through classes and helping him maneuver the crowds during passing periods. When lunch rolled around and the cafeteria was packed with the hundreds of people who suddenly knew Tony existed, Steve had just taken him under his arm, pushed through anyone who tried to talk to Tony, and led them out to the bleachers.

They'd been there for the past half hour, playing a thumb war version of truth or dare. So far, he'd heard three stories about Steve's childhood and had to cop to seven of his own along with two dares. He was in the middle of daring Steve to find a game they were more evenly matched at when Clint found them.

"Okay, but more importantly," Clint plopped down next to them, "I've made a pro-con list about Princehood. Wanna start with the pros or the cons?"

Tony sighed; great. Exactly what he'd been spending his entire day trying very hard not to think about.

"Maybe we should talk about something else, Clint?" Steve suggested with a glance to Tony.

"No, no, this is important," Clint waved him off, "I've totally got it figured out. Okay, cons: number one, no privacy. Like, ever."

"With you around, Clint, Prince or no Prince, I have no dreams of privacy," Tony rolled his eyes, then glanced at Steve, "Clearly."

"Number two," Clint continued as if he hadn't heard anything, "You've always got to look perfect."

"This was just hiding spot number one," Steve pointed out, "I bet we can find someplace even Clint can't get to."

"Promise?" Tony gave a tired sort of smile.

"-and let's face it, you're a bedhead kinda guy, no offence to your new shark-fin do-"

"He's crazy. I like your hair," Steve told Tony, running his fingers over the spikes with a fond smile.

"Number three, you can't ever go nutso, or have a bad day without the press getting wind-"

"I don't know," Tony informed Steve, mock-serious, "Some guy this morning told me I looked like an attractive shark."

"A  _very_ attractive shark," Steve nodded in confirmation.

Tony leaned closer to run a hand through Steve's hair in return, "I like your hair, too. It's really soft."

"Like, you've always gotta maintain the whole 'image' thing-Tones, would you quit playing with Muscles hair and listen for a sec?"

"Lay off the Prince thing," it was Steve that answered instead, "Let him breathe for a minute, Clint, c'mon."

"Fine, whatever," Clint rolled his eyes, "Just promise you'll come on my show, then? The public already knows your secret identity, I just need you to use that identity for the good of high school archers everywhere."

"Fine, okay," Tony threw his hands up in surrender, "I give up."

"Awesome! See you Saturday night!"

Unfortunately, they'd already resumed talking, and both missed the fact that Clint had said Saturday, the night of the dance.

"Steve?" Tony leaned into the blonde's shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to run my own country," Tony gave a sad, tired sigh, "I just want to pass tenth grade. Can't I just…tell them I quit?"

Steve was quiet for a long moment before he reached between them to take Tony's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"I don't think you can quit being who you are, Tony," he said at last, "You can refuse the job, but…you're always going to be a Prince."

"I don't think I can do it," Tony's voice was small, quiet, "What if I fuck it up?"

"Then at least you tried," Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling the smaller teen close against his chest, "You don't have to, Tony. And no one can decide for you. But if you tried…well, I think you'd be swell."

"'Swell'," Tony gave a watery sort of laugh, "You say the darndest things."

"I sure as heck try," Steve smiled.

* * *

 _Shoulders back_ , Tony reminded himself as he began his descent of the stairs.,  _Remember, they're all happy to see you._

All eyes were on him, but Tony kept his eyes trained on Natasha, who awaited him at the bottom of the stairs.

"The worst is over," she murmured into his ear as he offered her his arm politely. She took it, and they made their rounds around the room. She first gestured to a heavy-set man to their left, "Anthony, this is our diligent Prime Minister, Sebastian Motez. And this is his wife, Sheila, and their daughter, Marissa."

They bounced around after that, from person to person, taking name after name, shaking hand after hand, Tony never relinquishing his occasionally tight grip on Natasha's arm. It was an anchor, a safety net; there was no question in Tony's mind Natasha's could kick anyone in the room's ass without batting an eyelash, and he needed that secure kind of lifeline at the moment. If Natasha minded, she didn't show it.

Then dinner was served, and they made their way into the dining room. Harp music played while they found their seats, Tony between the Austrian ambassador and the Prime Minister. They all waited to sit until King Phillip entered, then he gestured that they may and the first course was served.

Once he finished, Tony examined the notecard that spelled out his name.  _Anthony Edward Carter Stark, Prince of Genovia._ God that was long. Not to mention obnoxio-oh my god he just set it on fire.

He'd held it a bit too close to the candle it seemed; he waved it, trying to get the flame to go out. Fortunately, everyone was too busy conversing to notice. The Prime Minister to his left was preoccupied talking about the Genovian pear trade, while the Austrian ambassador was engaged in a lively conversation with his wife.

Unfortunately, Tony waved the flaming postcard a bit too close to the Austrian's coat-sleeve.

_Oh my god, I just set an ambassador on fire._

Thinking as fast as he could, he grabbed the ice bucket nearby in one hand, grabbed the guy's sleeve with the other, and dumped his hand into the ice bucket. The Austrian turned to look at him incredulously, then caught sight of the still-fiery notecard and his burned sleeve.

"Uh," the ambassador cleared his throat, "Thanks?"

"Sorry," Tony winced.

Then the server's came around, placing something that looked very much like green ice cream in front of them. Embarrassed and very much in need of some sugar to make it feel better, Tony dug right in for a big spoonful.

Only to realize it was absolutely freezing.

He ended up making whale noises. The Prime Minister and his wife noticied, and decided that the best response would be to do it too so he wasn't alone. While he appreciated the solidarity, they all looked like complete and utter morons.

Tony felt faint.

The main course was next, which of course couldn't go without another mistake. This time the Prime Minister stood to give a speech, and Tony, in a moment of stupidity, tried to clink his glass to get everyone's attention, shattering it instead.

Tony was about ready to face plant onto the table at this point.

After that was the pear and cheese dessert, which came accompanied by grapes that, according to Phillip, he was supposed to somehow eat with a fork and knife. In attempting this, one of his grapes rolled off the plate and under the table. Tony ducked under and went after it, at which point one of the servers walking by tripped over Tony's ducked form, colliding with the Prime Minister and shoving him face first into his plate of food. Another waiter tripped over that waiter, pouring two buckets of fresh ice water onto the French dignitary, which sent the third waiter sprawling, throwing grapes at everyone at the table.

All in the space of approximately three seconds.

"That was my fault, wasn't it?"

Tony peeked out from under the tablecloth at the servers, who just winced in response. Out of nowhere, the Chinese ambassador, an old man who had been entirely silent throughout the affair burst into hysterical laughter. Soon enough everyone was laughing, and Tony watched in wide-eyed silence. Laughing at him, or with him? God, he had no idea.

He ignored them all and crawled back under the table.


	5. Chapter 5

The dinner had, without question, been an utter disaster.

He'd escaped the moment the last guest left, without even speaking to Phillip. Natasha had thankfully not tried to convince him it went well, though when he made to get out she did stop him briefly.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent, Tony."

"You called me Tony," he felt the need to point out, managing a lopsided sort of grin.

"You called me Nat," she shrugged as if this explained everything.

"Eleanor Roosevelt said that, didn't she?" Tony said after a moment, nudging at the dirt with his shoe.

"She did," Natasha nodded, then, "You're picking this up faster than most, you know. Faster than your father did."

"What?" Tony blinked, his world suddenly thrown out of balance.

"You should hear some of the stories Phil tells," she chuckled minutely, "I know for a fact your father once slid down the stair railing naked as the day he was born. Unfortunately, he wasn't as alone in the palace as he thought, and at the end of it he slammed right into his latest bodyguard."

"I'm sorry," Tony shook his head, clearing his ears, " _What?"_

"I damn near quit on the spot," her lips quirked into a smile.

"My father slammed into you.  _Naked?"_

"My first day on the job," she nodded.

"Lack of proper impulse control  _is_  hereditary then," Tony groaned with second-hand embarrassment, "I always wondered where the hell I got it from."

"The way he explained it to me, and I imagine many others over the years, was that he had the irresistible urge to live his life to it's fullest extent. To create, to destroy, to experience."

"And you believed him?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" she chuckled, then seemed to sober, "Your father was able to be a good King without losing the spark that made him who he was. I believe that you could do the same, should you want to."

Tony sighed; he was no more sure about this Prince thing than he had been this morning. Or yesterday. Or any day in these past crazy weeks. Natasha, seeming to sense this, retreated to her side of the car with one final comment.

"This is your decision, Tony. But turn it down because you don't want to be a Prince, not because you mistakenly believe yourself incapable."

With that she got back in the limo, and Tony was left to his thoughts. He blew past his mom with a terse, 'I don't want to talk' and went straight upstairs to shower until his skin was pink and the steam had cleared his head. When he finished brushing his teeth and slipping into pajamas, he grabbed his phone off the table and began dialing. He hugged the phone to his ear as he curled into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"Hello?" the voice was staticky, but exactly what Tony needed to hear.

"It was a disaster," Tony mumbled into the phone.

"Tony?" for a brief moment Steve sounded confused, then, "Tony! I'm sure it wasn't that ba-"

"It was that bad. It was worse than that bad. It was the worst night of my life."

"Oh, Tony-"

"It sucked everything sucks can we talk about something not sucky?"

"Yes, of course we can," Steve smiled into the phone, "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. Pineapples. Do you like pineapples?"

"Pineapples? Sure."

"I like pineapples. They're my favorite fruit. I still don't know why I said pineapples. Just…I dunno, be nice to me, I'm tired and life sucks," Tony pouted, "Tell me stuff."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Tony shrugged, "I wanna know things about you."

"Okay, uh," Steve chuckled, and if Tony was guessing right he was pretty sure Steve was blushing right now. He did that a lot. It was adorable and awesome and made everything in Tony's life a little bit better, "Well, I want to know things about you too. Want to swap off? Like, uh, my favorite color's blue, what's yours?"

"Red. Maybe gold. I can never decide. Uhh…favorite school subject?"

"History. You?"

"Lunch."

"Tony."

"Okay, okay, science. When they let us experiment. Otherwise it's boring."

"Of course," Steve chuckled, "How about…if you could have any superpower in the world?"

"I think…" Tony rolled onto his back to look at the ceiling contemplatively, "Flight, maybe. There's something about that idea of…freedom, y'know? I think it'd be amazing. What about you?"

"Super strength for sure."

"Fast answer."

"I…" Steve paused, seeming unsure of whether or not to say something, "I was so sickly for most of my life, always the weakest kid in class. You know that, obviously, I just…I got picked on a lot. I mean, most of the time I asked for it, calling them out for being bullies or being rude to a dame and-" Tony didn't want to interrupt, but he could feel a smile stretch across his face at Steve's old-fashioned word choices, "I just, I always wanted to get stronger. To be…better, to be able to do more good."

"Sounds like you," Tony smiled fondly.

"What d'you mean?"

"I dunno, you're…you're like some kinda superhero y'know? Always jumping in at the last minute, to fight the bad guy and save the day."

"I'm hardly a superhero," Steve laughed, "Most heroes don't get their butts handed to them by the bad guys. But I think the real question is, do I get the handsome Prince in the end?"

Tony was thankful they were talking over the phone so Steve didn't see the ridiculously embarrassed blush that coated his cheeks.

"What, a superhero like you?" Tony answered at last, "Of course you do. The Prince would be damn lucky to have you."

"If you ask me, I think it's me who lucked out. Prince or no Prince, he's, uh, he's a heck of a guy."

"You're crazy," Tony flushed again, mumbling his answer into his pillow.

"It's okay. I'm pretty sure he is too."

"Rude."

"That too."

"Psh. Whatever. I'm ignoring you now."

"Mhmm."

"Steve?"

"Yes, Tony?"

"I'm ignoring you."

"So I gathered."

"Steve?"

"Yes, Tony?"

"I've decided to stop ignoring you."

"How magnanimous of you."

"You're lucky I like your voice."

"Lucky me indeed."

"Please keep talking," Tony hugged closer to his pillow with a sigh, phone still nuzzled against his ear. He wanted to think about nice things, Steve things. Not about Princehood or duties or failures.

"Sure," Steve answered easily, despite how late it was getting, "I wrote a new song yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's still rough, of course, but it's something. I haven't written in a while, so it was…good. Cathartic. Sam's usually our writer, since he can write for the band as a whole, I can only write for the keyboard."

"There's words too though? Do you sing, or are you just keyboard? I only heard Bucky the other day."

"I…well, I  _can,_ it's just…I don't know, I get more embarrassed by it than Buck does. He's kind of like your friend Clint, he could be up there in his boxers and he'd still be making love to the mike like there was no one else."

"…but you  _can_ sing."

"Uh, well-"

"See, cause what I'm hearing is that you can sing-"

"-Tony, I-"

"-and that you wrote a new song-"

"-really don't think-"

"-and I'm pretty sure that you should totally sing it to me."

"I'm pretty sure that's insanely embarrassing and not going to happen."

"But Steeeve!"

"…maybe in person.  _Maybe._ "

"Guess I'll just have to see you again," Tony grinned, "Oh darn."

"Hey Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony paused, something about the careful fragility of Steve's voice catching him off guard.

"Can you…can you tell me something about you no one else knows?"

"Well…" Tony paused dramatically, "You see, I'm secretly the heir to a country-"

"To- _ny."_ Steve drew out his name in a way that was simultaneously disappointed and affectionate.

"I kid, I kid. Something no one else knows…" Tony thought a brief moment about whether or not he wanted to share this, then, quietly, "I have my father's eyes."

"Can…could I hear the story? Or is it personal?"

And, god, in that moment Tony  _loved_ him.

Steve didn't ask him how having his father's eyes was supposed to be some kind of secret. He didn't point out the obvious that his mom probably knew, regardless of whether or not that had occurred to Tony. He didn't ask nosy questions or push or act like Tony was stupid for saying something so seemingly out of the blue. He was just…there. An ear to listen if Tony wanted. And adorable puppy of a human being that he was, he  _asked_ if he could hear the story.

 _God_ Tony didn't know how he could be this lucky.

"Yeah," Tony answered at last, "I don't mind. I just, I never met my father. I mean, not really, I guess when I was a baby, but not anytime recent. So I never really knew anything about him, much less whether or not we looked alike. Then I was having Prince lessons the other day, and Phil told me I have my father's eyes, just outta the blue, and I guess I just…never knew."

"Your, um," Steve paused, not quite stuttering, but hesitating briefly in a way that had Tony positive that he was blushing ten ways to Sunday, "Your eyes were the first thing I noticed about you."

"My eyes?"

"I remember Hodge had me on the ground, and out of nowhere you were just…there. I looked up and you were standing over me, fists clenched, eyes on fire, and I just remember thinking you looked so…fierce. Like some kind of avenging angel. And that sounds stupid, I know, it sounded better in my head, I just…I remember the look in your eyes, like you wanted to murder someone. Honestly, for a minute I thought you were one of his friends, you were gonna beat on me too, but…even if you were, I couldn't help but think you had the most amazing eyes I'd ever seen."

Was it possible to be in love with someone you hadn't even kissed?

It had to be. There was no other way to describe the way his head was spinning and his heart ached, like he'd been infused with some kind of drug that increased the gravity of everything around him. Tony didn't want to talk on the phone anymore. He wanted Steve here. He wanted to say these things face to face, like they'd done behind the bleachers, exchanging the stories of their lives while they played with each others hands, their lips, their bodies.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I…"  _want you, need you, miss you, love you,_ "I really like talking to you. You're the only thing making this whole mess bearable."

"I like talking to yo-" then Steve was yawning. It was the most weirdly adorable noise Tony had ever heard, somewhere between a squeaky ball and a baby seal, "You too, Tony. A lot."

"I'm keeping you up, I should-"

"No, no, I'm fine, you're not-"

"Yes, I am, and we have our thing tomorrow-"

"Our date?" Steve had probably meant it to be a correcting statement, but it came out as a question, a confirmation.

"Our date," Tony smiled into the phone, "And here I am, keeping you up with my stupid fuckups-"

"Tony, don't say that, you're not a-"

"I am though, I keep fucking everything up, like at that stupid dinner. I can't be a Prince, Steve, I can't, every time I try I fail and it  _sucks,_ having this huge part of me that's supposed to be in my blood and, and it's  _not,_ it's not there! I'm just this idiot kid playing grown-up and everyone in the room knows it."

"They know that you're trying, Tony," Steve's voice was quiet, surely to keep his grandmother from hearing, reassuring but firm, "Was there anyone there even close to your age? Probably not, right? That's because they've been doing this stuff for years, but they were all you at some point, they all learned and slipped up and they got better, just like you will-"

"They laughed at me, Steve," Tony sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. God, now he was fucking crying like a fucking idiot, "They fucking laughed at me, and I just felt like such a stupid fucking failure-"

"Oh, Tony," Steve's voice was so helpless, "Just say the word, I'm there."

"What?"

"You heard me, you say the word and I'm there. I mean, it'll take me fifteen minutes or so, but I can get there. Do you need me?"

_Yes._

God he wanted to say yes.

He wanted  _desperately_ to say yes. But he couldn't do that to Steve; they weren't even dating! They were  _almost_  dating. About-to-be-dating? Maybe, if their date went well? Fuck, he didn't know. He hoped. Fucking hell, he hoped. They were talking a lot, and about more than your average run-of-the-mill stuff, too. They talked about life things, important things. Things Tony never would have thought he'd admit to anyone, and he got the sense Steve didn't go around running his mouth about this sort of stuff to just anyone either.

But.

Still. They weren't dating, and they'd only just started to become friends. Who was he to make Steve get out of bed in the middle of the night, come all the way to Tony's apartment, just because he couldn't handle his emotions?

"No, it's fine-"

"Tony, are you sure? I really don't mind, it's-"

"No, really," Tony sniffled again, rubbing the back of his hand at his eyes until the incriminating evidence was gone, "It's…it sucks, but I'll be okay. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tony, I…" Steve seemed to want to say more, but gave in, "I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well."

"You too."

* * *

Tony tried to just sleep through Prince lessons. Honestly, if it were up to him, he would have just kept sleeping right up to the moment Steve arrived and made everything better-well, okay, he'd get up an hour before Steve came over so he could not look like a troll-but his mom wouldn't have it. Face your fears, she said. It can't have been that bad, she said. You have to deal with it sooner or later, she said.

She had obviously never royally fucked up at something she was supposedly born to do.

So Tony grudgingly rolled out of bed and got ready. He had forgone the limo ride today, scootering his way to the embassy instead. Once he arrived he was led out back to the garden, where Phillip was tending to the greenhouse plants.

"This place was such a mess when I arrived," Phillip tutted, "Natasha and I have been spending every spare moment in here we can."

"Nat…gardens?" Tony raised an eyebrow dubiously.

"Better than I," Phillip just nodded, oblivious to, or, far more likely, ignoring Tony's surprise, "Don't get me wrong, she could kill a grown man with her pinky, but she's not inhuman, you know."

"I do."

Tony found himself thinking back to last night, along with the handful of other times the bodyguard had spoken to him honestly. He liked her a lot; she treated him like an adult, someone capable of understanding the consequences of things and the weight of his decisions. She saw everything, and yet she still seemed to truly believe he had what it took to be King someday. It was a big part of what had held Tony back from outright refusing the position already.

"Well, don't just stand there," Phillip shot him a look, "Pick up a spray bottle and make yourself useful."

"You're, um," Tony grabbed one of the bottles, "You're not mad at me for what happened?"

"Actually," Phillip mused, the smallest of smiles on his lips, "I found it rather amusing. It reminded me of my first dinner party as a royal. I knocked over a suit of armor, and the spear went right through the suckling pig. I was quite convinced I would never be royal material."

"But you're so…" Tony gestured to the composed, collectedness that was Phillip Coulson, "You."

"Composure isn't all there is to royalty. It helps," he conceded, "But while composure will maintain a kingdom, ingenuity and leadership are what lead a kingdom forward. I'm a man of maintenance; I'll always be a better bodyguard than King."

"Wait," Tony frowned, "I thought you were the royal secretary?"

"That was my cover," Phillip seemed amused by this, "To this day no one outside the security team knows. And I suppose I did plenty of paperwork as well, but I was your father's head of security."

"Are you better than Natasha?"

"I trained Natasha," Phillip said calmly, neither a confirmation nor denial, but there was a hint of a smile that had Tony's active imagination running wild.

Tony couldn't help but imagine a fight between them, and all of sudden found himself not even remotely surprised that the unflappable man had been a bodyguard.

"No fair, you didn't tell me you were cool," Tony grinned.

"Anthony…" Phillip examined him a moment before coming to a decision, "How about we cancel Prince lessons for today? I'd like to see the city before I leave, if you'd be willing to show me."

"Really?" Tony looked at him curiously, "Sure you aren't too busy for something like that?"

"I-"

"Prince Anthony, your highness," Pepper greeted as she bustled in, already reading off a long list, "Sir Jerome has just arrived, and I have the French consulate's assistant on hold, he wants to confirm tonight's dinner."

Tony had already returned to spraying plants, and Phil watched his turned back. Anthony didn't seem upset with  _him_ , exactly, but he was certainly upset. Perhaps he'd pushed too hard; Phil had known that event with the press had shaken Anthony, and he should have cancelled the dinner altogether. It really hadn't been that bad-Phil hadn't heard the Chinese ambassador laugh like that, well,  _ever-_ but Anthony was convinced it had been, and the boy didn't need another reason to doubt himself.

Above everything else, he did have a fondness for the boy. Howard had been perhaps the best, if at times the craziest, friend Phil had ever had, and Anthony was remarkable similar to him in all the ways that counted.

Not to mention the boy was his godson, even if Anthony himself never needed to know that.

"Send my apologies," Phil nodded to Pepper, "Cancel everything for the day. I'm being shown San Francisco by a true San Franciscan."

Tony's smile was more than worth the paperwork he'd have to deal with later.

* * *

Tony had been skeptical about a day in the city with his father's assistant-well, bodyguard. But it turned out that when Phil wasn't tying him to chairs or teaching him the intricacies of foreign trade, he was actually…well, he was actually pretty cool. Cool enough he'd gone from 'Phillip' to 'Phil', anyway, and if Phil had noticed, he hadn't mentioned it.

They'd started the day by picking up Tony's baby from the shop. Tony had texted Steve and asked if they could drop by to show Phil a sneak peek of his baby while they were out, and when they got there, it turned out Steve had a surprise for him: Steve had in fact rebuilt the car that morning. He explained he couldn't make the study portion of their date since he had to work late, but as a sorry-I'm-missing-half-our-date/I-hope-you-feel-better-about-your-Princedom gift of sorts, he'd rebuilt Tony's baby early so they could drive it to the dance that night.

Tony had almost kissed his grease-smudged face right there in the garage.

The fact that Phil, Nick, Bucky, Sam and pretty much everyone else in the garage had been staring at them since Tony had walked in kind of put a damper on that though. Tony figured Steve wouldn't really appreciate being outted if he wasn't already-plus, hello, super awkward if Tony was the idiot that read everything wrong and Steve didn't want to kiss him back-so Tony just gave Steve the biggest bear hug he could and promised that when if he became King he would knight Steve as the Best Human Being In All the Nine Realms. It was stupid and goofy, but Steve had laughed, so it was totally worth looking ridiculous in front of the current King of his maybe-future country.

After that, he and Phil had set off in Tony's baby to see the sights. He'd shown Phil a couple of different places while Phil not-so-subtly tried to bring up Steve, and Tony not-so-subtly tried to avoid it. Phil had dropped it easily enough, though not without some strange comment about how he was there for Tony if he wanted to talk. Tony thought maybe he should feel weirder about the fact that Phil was trying to bond with him, and wondered briefly if Phil was trying to make for his father being gone or something, but eventually let it slide. He liked Phil when he wasn't trying to get him to run a country.

Eventually they ended up at the Musée Mécanique, a museum of antique mechanical arcade games Tony used to spend ages at when he was younger. They played rock-em-sock-em robots, pinball style baseball, even arm wrestling. Phil had at first been a bit reserved about that one-'I'm supposed to  _touch_  that _?'-_ but after he wiped it down, the second the machine tried to move Phil's hand he flipped it, beating the game without batting an eye.

"Is that all?"

Tony decided to maybe in the future not be such a smartass around the guy.

Though Phil went along happily enough with everything Tony suggested, the only thing he actually asked to do was take photos in one of the old photobooths. The first two had Phil looking strangely confused, the third he blinked. Only the fourth was somewhat normal; Phil was smiling exasperatedly at Tony, who was grinning with bunny ears behind Phil's head. Phil took that one when he thought Tony wasn't looking, and Tony let him.

Later they grabbed corndogs and went out to the pier, where Tony couldn't resist a question.

"Did my father always want to be King?"

Phil took a long moment to consider the question before answering.

"There was a time about sixteen years ago, where he spent a year considering renouncing. He'd just finished college in America, and met a lovely artist. They had a son together, a son that Howard loved more than anything in this world or the next."

"But?"

Tony had spent his whole life thinking his father had just abandoned him. He'd never been given a reason why a father who knew about him, who sent him presents and cards at every holiday and birthday, couldn't have been there too. The royalty thing shed more light on that; obviously his father had left to rule a country. Tony supposed that was a little better than the idea that he just hadn't wanted to be a father, but it still stung, and he still wanted to know why.

"Your father realized that the love he could have for one person, or even two, couldn't make him forget the love he felt for his country and the people who needed him," Phil watched Tony's reactions carefully, "It was the hardest thing he ever had to do."

"I guess," Tony looked out at the waves, considering this.

"Regardless of what you or your mother may think," Phil told him, not unkindly, "You should know that he loved you fiercely. He considered you the most important thing he'd ever done."

"Yeah," Tony didn't want to think about this anymore, "Wanna get a corndog?"

"A what?"

"Come on."

* * *

"I can  _not_  wear this."

"You look fine, dear," his mother reassured soothingly, not even looking up from her book to where Tony was examining himself in green swim trunks.

"I look like an asparagus."

"A very cute asparagus."

"First, no," Tony turned away from the mirror to glare at his mother, "Second, I don't want to look cute. I want to look  _handsome._ Stunningly sexy, if possible."

"I'd prefer if my baby boy stuck with cute, thank you," his mom flicked a page, "I still haven't met this Steve yet, I'm not sure if I trust him."

"Mom," Tony rolled his eyes, because,  _seriously,_ "If you don't like Steve, you will be the only person on the planet and I will personally pay you a million dollars."

"Feeling dramatic today?"

"I'm serious! He's like…like a cuddly little puppy wrapped up in rainbows and butterflies and sunshine, okay? You're going to like him. It's not even a question."

"Whatever you say, dear," Peggy just murmured with a snicker.

"Whatever," Tony huffed, "I'm changing into my red suit instead."

"You're right, strawberries are much cuter than asparagus."

"Stop calling me cute, mom!" Tony threw one of his pillows at her with another exasperated huff. She just ducked her head, laughing while he stomped off to his room to change. She continued reading while he changed until the the doorbell rang.

"Oh, I wonder who  _that_ could be?" she gave a delighted smirk, up and off the couch in a flash.

" _No!"_ Tony yelped from behind his bedroom door, but he was already mid-change and unless he wanted to answer the door in the nude, he was stuck.

He really should not have given that option as much thought as he did.

"Why hello, you must be Steve! I've heard so much about you, come in, come in," Peggy welcomed Steve in warmly.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Carter," Steve shook her hand with a smile.

"Whatever she's saying it's a lie, Steve, don't believe a word!" Tony shouted protests from behind his door.

"Ignore him, he's still getting ready, he can be quite the little diva sometimes-"

"Oh my  _god,_ Mom!"

"My, you're a handsome young thing. No wonder Tony's so enamored-"

" _Mom!"_ Tony's voice hit a strangely high pitch, and there was the sound of clothing hitting the door as his changing speed increased.

"Uh, thank you, ma'am," Steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh, 'ma'am', now aren't you polite? Such a dear. You sit right there, I'm sure I can find some baby pictures to flip through while we wait-"

"I _will_ move to Genovia, Mom, I swear to god!"

Tony burst out of his bedroom, still shirtless, recently tugged on swimsuit hanging low on his hips as he skidded into the room.

"Steve, hi, sorry, I was changing, let's go, like,  _now_ ," Tony grabbed Steve's wrist and tried to steer him out the door, but his mom stopped him.

"For heaven's sake, put on a shirt, Tony," she chided.

"But-!"

"You really should, um," Steve gave a small cough, and Tony turned to really look at Steve for the first time. Steve looked handsome as ever in a pair of navy blue trunks and a fitted white tee, which was a nice contrast to the way Steve was blushing six different shades of red and seemed unable to keep his eyes off Tony's chest, "Put on a shirt. She's right."

"Didn't mean to distract," Tony grinned, while Steve turned his attention steadfastly to the ground.

He slipped back into his room to grab a random black t-shirt off the floor, and when he returned he grabbed Steve by the elbow, steering him out the door.

"It was nice to meet you, Steve," Peggy caught them on their way out, "You're welcome back anytime, long as you take good care of my boy."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve nodded seriously, "I most certainly will."

"Oh my god, come on," Tony flushed, dragging Steve out.

"Your mom's nice," Steve smiled at him once they were making their way down the stairs outside the apartment.

"She's overbearing," Tony huffed with a scowl.

"She just loves you," Steve chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony grabbed Steve's hand, intertwining their fingers, "C'mon. We've got a beach party to get to, don't we?"

"You driving?"

"Bet your ass I am. You got to have all the fun putting her together, you're not driving her too-"

"I'm still sorry about that, I know we planned to build it together, I just thought it'd be a nice surprise since I had to miss our study session-"

"Don't worry about it, I'm glad. This way we won't have Nat staring us down in the front seat the whole time," Tony just winked, opening the door for Steve like the gentleman he totally could be when he wanted to, "After you."


	6. Chapter 6

Steve wasn't entirely sure when his life had become a fairy tale, but he could not have cared less.

The Beach Bash was pretty much your cliché high school dance, just thrown on a beach instead of a gymnasium. That type of thing wasn't usually Steve's scene, but being there with Tony made it completely worth it. They spent the whole time together, swimming and playing volleyball and even flying kites at one point, generally having the time of their lives.

As the night went on, they rented a boat with Bucky and Sam to go out and watch the sun go down. The air was perfect, crisp but not freezing, and they stayed out on the water until the sun set, at which point Tony wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, put his head on Steve's shoulder, and told Steve he didn't know what he would do without him.

He tightened his grip around Tony's shoulders and came within an inch of kissing him like every bone in his body ached to do, when Bucky abruptly turned the boat around. He most likely hadn't meant to interrupt, since he couldn't see them from up front and they were sitting on the very edge of the back end like you weren't supposed to when the boat was moving, but that didn't stop Steve from wanting to kill Bucky as he flailed and tumbled right off the back end and into the absolutely freezing ocean.

Talk about a cold shower.

He'd never really learned how to swim, but he could dog paddle a bit, and he would probably be okay; his head was just above water, and the boat wasn't more than a paddle or two away. He was in the water all of a second before he heard another splash and there was a body next to him, one arm looped around him to keep them both afloat.

"M-mother of g-god!" Tony exclaimed, teeth chattering away while Steve coughed up what felt like half the ocean, "T-that's f-fucking c-c-cold! B-Barnes, you are a d-dead m-man, you f-fucking hear m-me?!"

"Shit!" Sam's voice, then, "Buck, stop the boat, you idiot, Steve fell off the back-"

"What?" Bucky's panicked voice cut through, "Sam, Steve can't swim that well, go-"

"Tony went in after him before Steve even hit the water, they're fine, just stop the boat," Sam leaned over the edge, extending a hand to Tony, the closest, to help them back in.

Tony ignored the hand for himself and pushed Steve forward instead. Sam grabbed Steve by the forearm and helped him up, where Bucky was waiting with a fluffy towel and a million apologies. Steve ignored him and turned back to help Tony into the boat instead, who took his hand with a grateful smile.

Once they were bundled up and Tony got even by shoving Bucky off the boat when he naïvely turned his back, Steve laced his fingers with Tony's still shivering ones as they headed back for shore.

* * *

"And now," Darcy, AV club president, announced into a microphone, aiming the camera at herself, "It's time for everyone's favorite talk show host, direct from Shield High's AV room, Clint Barton!"

She spun to reveal Clint, placing the camera on it's stand and giving his the 'good to go' thumbs up.

"Tonight on Shut Up and Listen," Clint folded his hands on the table, "We have a special guest, Prince Tony Carter Stark-wait, Tony Carter Edward Stark? Edward Carter? I don't know, I think there's an Edward in there somewhere, whatever, the Prince of Shield High, you all know who I'm talking about, he's going to come on and talk about the importance of archery in schools. Until he arrives, however, Shield's self-proclaimed magic master, Loki Laufeyson, has offered to entertain us with some slight of hand."

Clint leaned back in his seat while Loki told him to pick a card, any card. Where was Tony? He was up in ten minutes. Maybe Clint should've texted him a reminder, but Tony totally knew when and where Clint's show was. He'd helped out hundreds of times, Clint had been doing it since eight grade and they did it together more often than not.

But then Loki revealed a rabbit, and Clint was distracted by wondering how the hell Loki got a rabbit down his pants without the thing biting his junk off.

* * *

Tony, at that moment, was slow dancing with Steve. As the shorter of the two, he had both arms wrapped around Steve's neck, and Steve's arms were snug around his waist. They were flush against each other, chest to chest, hip to hip, Tony's cheek resting against Steve's shoulder as they swayed to the music.

Then, Tiberius Stone cut in.

"You don't mind if I take him for a spin, do you big guy?" he patted Steve's shoulder, "Course not. Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"

Probably from the ten thousand times the guy had pounded him into the pavement for one thing or another. Steve didn't like him, never had; he was slimy and rude and a bully and everything Steve couldn't stand. But…he didn't want to come off as possessive. This was a date, but he wasn't entirely sure if they were "dating" or "on a date", and what the boundaries for that would be. But he didn't want to let go of Tony yet, either.

Then, Tony cleared things up for him.

"I mind," Tony's arms went just a bit tighter around his neck. Not anywhere near choking, but in a very clear sign of I-am-not-letting-go.

"C'mon baby, I'd treat you like a Prince," Ty winked, clearly thinking himself funny. He moved to put a hand on Tony, and Steve intervened.

"He said no," Steve released one arm from Tony's waist grabbed Ty's wrist, effectively stopped him short, "Drop it."

Ty skulked off, and Tony turned to Steve with a lop-sided grin.

"My hero."

Which was, of course, when the helicopters showed up.

"C'mon, where's the Prince?"

"Give us a smile here!"

"Don't be shy, Prince!"

But Tony was already gone. The moment the helicopters arrived Steve had his coat off and wrapped around Tony's shoulders so the cameras couldn't get a clear shot, keeping him under his arm while they shot up the hill, away from the shore where the helicopters were hovering. They stumbled across an old fishing shack, and Steve used his shoulder to force the door open so they could take cover. Luckily, everyone else was so busy trying to hog the camera that they managed to escape notice.

"I'm so sorry," Tony bit his lip, "This is all my fault-"

"Tony, unless you called and tipped them off, this is not even close to your fault."

"But it  _is,_ we were having such a good time, and they ruined it because I-"

"Because you what? Because you were born a Prince? That's hardly your fault."

"No, but I could have renounced by now, then they wouldn't always be on my tail-"

"I don't care, Tony," Steve just smiled, moving steadily closer, "I really, really don't care."

"Oh,  _really_ really? Well, why didn't you say so?" Tony chuckled, moving closer as well, teasing, "You sure you're not just in it for the fame?"

"Tony," Steve couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, "I've liked you since you told Hodge to fuck off and got four stitches for it. You keep saving me, even when I don't need it. From Hodge back then, and today, in the water."

"What, that? No, c'mon, that was nothing-"

"You didn't have to come after me, you know," Steve took Tony's hands in his, "I can swim, sort of."

"Yeah, well," Tony ducked his head. Had they been any further apart Steve might not have noticed, but this close he could see the faintly pink blush of Tony's cheeks, "You jump, I jump, y'know?"

For a moment, Steve was entirely speechless. Then,

"Did you just quote Titanic at me?"

"You make me stupid, forget it," Tony moved to remove his hands, but Steve tightened his grip and didn't let him.

Because in that moment, Steve knew that he was absolutely, without a doubt, desperately in love with Tony Carter Stark.

"You saved me in every way a person can be saved," he quoted back, leaning in and capturing Tony's lips without waiting for an answer.

Which was precisely when the windows were mobbed by photographers. Their lips only briefly touched before they were separated, pulling apart to cover their faces with their hands, block out the bright camera flashes.

"Anthony, look over here!"

"Give us another smooch, boys!"

"Nice lips, Steve!" one of the weirder photographers cat-called.

Unfortunately for the both of them, the clicking of the cameras and endless shouting made it sound more like he was thanking Steve for the nice tip. Steve put out an arm to move Tony behind him, but Tony just shoved him off aggressively.

"Tony, what-?"

"What the  _fuck_ did he mean, 'nice tip'?"

Steve looked at Tony for the first time since the photographers arrived, to find Tony horrified and furious, looking as if he'd just been gutted like a fish.

"Tony, I-"

"Don't bother," Tony snarled, "I don't want to hear it."

"Tony, wait, please-!"

But Tony was gone, spinning out of his grip and storming out of the shack. He went fast enough that he was able to blow past the photographers, but when Steve tried to follow they blocked him, forming a wall of camera flashes and catcalls he couldn't shove through, though he damn tried.

"Tony!  _Tony!"_

He kept calling, kept hoping for Tony to turn back, but he never slowed in his furious escape across the beach.

* * *

"I think that's enough fire tricks for one night," Clint decided at last, quickly stopping Loki in the middle of flicking the lighter again.

The room was an absolute disaster zone.

Darcy was scrambling around trying to catch the doves Loki had loosed upon them and props were everywhere, including stuck to the ceiling. Half the items in the room had rabbit piss on them, and the other half were scorched by one or another of Loki's ten different fire tricks. Clint was only sporting one of his eyebrows, his clothes were covered in green paint, and he was pretty sure his fingerprints had been burned right off.

In short, he was going to  _murder_ Tony.

"Well. Thank you, for that, Loki. We're going to end early, since it's seems like his fucking highness is too good for our little show and if Loki does another trick I'm pretty sure there are going to be fatalities."

"Thank you sweet baby Jesus," Darcy muttered.

"Oh, really? Are you sure? My next trick is totally harmless-" Loki protested.

"Does it involve fire?" Clint scowled.

"Well, just a  _bit-"_

"Aaand we're done."

* * *

He was Prince, and Princes did not cry.

_Do. Not. Fucking. Cry._

Tony repeated this to himself as he wiped his face, sniffling miserably as he raced across the beach. Oh fuck it, there was no point in denying it: he was crying. There were tears on his cheeks and his nose was running and his cheeks were red and he looked like shit and he couldn't even bring himself to care because his life had reached the single biggest peak of suck in the history of ever.

Steve had  _used_ him.

_Steve._

Steve mother fucking Rogers, who he'd convinced himself was the nicest guy on the planet. The guy he'd convinced himself cared about him, who said he wanted to be there for him.

But apparently he just wanted to be there so he could let the photographers in on the best shot.

God, what bullshit. It was all such fucking bullshit and Tony couldn't believe he'd let himself believe it, let himself fall into that trap. The texts and the phone calls and the hand holding and the talking and  _how_  had he not seen it? How could someone  _fake_ all of that for some stupid fucking photographers, a handful of cash?

"Tony!"

"Just leave me alone, Ste-Janet?"

It wasn't Steve's hand on his arm but Janet Van Dyne's, head cheerleader of the Avengers.

"Here," she pulled on his arm, passing him his shirt and jeans, "Your clothes."

"You want to help me?" Tony narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, come on," she rolled her eyes, "Anyone can see the photographers are being assholes. Someone's gotta cut you some slack around here."

"…thanks," Tony accepted the pile of clothes after a minute, ducking into one of the nearby changing tents, "Thank you, Janet."

"Please, honey," she waved him off, "Call me Jan."

He heard whispering, but that was all the warning he got before the changing tent was knocked over and call-me-Jan shoved a very naked Tony into a crowd of reporters.

Whose startled scream echoed across the beach as he grabbed for a towel, covering himself hopefully in time.

"Go the fuck  _away!"_ he shouted, furious and mortified at the same.

Then Coach Thor came barreling through, knocking reporters down like they were blades of grass under his track shoes, whistle blaring like a war horn.

"Out of my way, I demand it! You pathetic cockroaches, I said  _move!"_ he roared, elbowing a particularly insistent reporter in a way that sent him to the ground, gasping for air.

Then Coach Thor grabbed Tony and pushed him through the crowd. The rest of the night was a blur, a foggy blur of miserable tears and crushing hugs from his mother and a shower so steaming hot it almost burned his skin and he could forget for a split second he wasn't still in love with Steve Rogers.

But then he remembered, and everything sucked all over again.

His phone buzzed the whole night. Every half hour on the dot Steve called again, and texted him intermitted in between. Tony didn't read a single one of them, couldn't bring himself to. At 2 in the morning, when his phone buzzed for possibly the millionth time, Tony rolled over and for the briefest, most beautifully deluded of moments, almost picked it up. For the briefest of moments, happiness ran through him at the thought of talking to Steve.

Then he remembered everything, and he snatched it off his bedside table and threw it at the wall instead.

The ringing stopped.

For twenty-two blissful minutes, there was silence. Tony curled deeper into his covers, rubbing his angry tears against his pillowcase. Fuck Steve. Fuck his phone calls, fuck his text messages, fuck him for ever thinking he could pull one over on Tony motherfucking Carter.

"Tony."

_Oh my fucking god, now I'm hearing his fucking voice._

"Tony, please, just let me in."

"No," Tony mumbled into his pillow, "No, dream-Steve, stop seducing me to the dark side."

"Tony, you're not dreaming, I'm on the fire escape, will you please open your window before I fall and break something?"

"You mean like you broke my fucking heart?" Tony bemoaned into his pillow.

"Tony,  _please,"_ Steve pleaded, and Tony sat up at last.

Steve really was on his fire escape, one hand on the window, kicked-puppy look on his face. Which, for the record, was  _so_ not fair. He did not get to look like that.

"Stop looking like that."

"What?"

"Your  _face,"_ Tony demanded, "Rearrange it."

"If it makes you happy, Tony, I will see a plastic surgeon in the morning but right now it's freezing out here and I didn't grab a coat so I would really appreciate-"

"Stop being funny. You don't get to be funny."

"No more jokes, I promise, you're right, it's not f-funny."

Suddenly, that cold stutter and the chattering of Steve's teeth had him flashing back to the moment Steve had been thrown off the boat. He could remember so vividly the intense panic in Steve's eyes, the same panic surely reflected in his own eyes when Steve's head had briefly disappeared underwater. He remembered how there hadn't been a second or even a first thought in his mind before he dove right in after him, no questions asked.

You jump, I jump.

God fucking damn it. Tony threw his covers off, making his way to the fire escape and throwing open the window.

"Say a fucking word and I will kill you, Rogers."

Steve wisely kept mum as he clambered in, rubbing his arm to keep warm. The idiot had come over in nothing but striped pajama bottoms and a thin white t-shirt, and  _oh my fucking god-_

"Did you come here  _barefoot?"_ Tony gaped at Steve's shoeless feet.

"You turned off your phone," Steve looked to the floor abashedly, "I had to talk to you."

"You could've taken a second to put on shoes so they don't have amputate your frozen feet, Jesus. And I didn't turn it off," Tony gestured to where the broken phone still lay on his floor.

"Oh wow," Steve blinked widely at the dent in the wall.

"You called me and I wanted to pick up."

"That, uh. Not gonna lie, that makes no sense."

"Oh, you're  _not_ lying now?" Tony shot him an absolutely poisonous glare, "That's nice."

"Tony, I  _swear_ to you," Steve looked up at last, meeting Tony's eyes earnestly, "I don't know why that reporter said that, but I didn't do it."

Christ, those eyes.

"How do I know that?"

"Because I would never do that to you, the press are like piranha! They act like they own you, like they have some kind of  _right_ to talk to you and I  _hate_ them because whenever they show up you get this look on your face like you're  _scared_ and it makes me feel sick and possessive and like I want to punch something all at once and I want to be a superhero, I do, I want to have super strength so I can just pick you up and carry you away and never let anyone make you feel like that again because I love you and I could never-"

"What did you say? _"_

Steve's ranting came to abrupt stop, and there was dead silence in the room. Tony could feel his heart beating like a drum, his blood racing like he'd just been injected with a drug. Steve's eyes were wide and butterfly blue even in the mostly dark room and it was clear he hadn't been planning on saying that out loud but it was also clear that he meant it, and Tony suddenly had a very deep, very intense needto kiss Steve  _right fucking now._

Then they were crashing together, lips colliding in a frenzy of hands and tongues and electricity. Steve's hands were cold against his face and chest, and Tony pulled at Steve's waist until they were falling back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs as Steve straddled him. The burning friction between them had Tony stifling a moan, his comfiest pajamas already feeling constrictive.

It was hard to keep quiet, but Steve swallowed every panting moan, every desperate call of his name as he continued to attack Tony's mouth with fervor. Then Steve's hands were tugging at his shirt and Tony shrugged it off, quickly returning the favor and setting to work exploring the dips and curves of the gorgeously muscled body stretched out above him. Steve laid him on his back, his arms up by Tony's head, his fingers tangling in Tony's hair as he kissed his way down Tony's neck, stopping to bite and suck at the hollow curve where Tony's neck and shoulder met. Soon enough the skin was an abused red that was going to be unmistakably hickey purple tomorrow.

White hot arousal shot through Tony just at the thought, and he dug his nails into Steve's bare back. Steve stifled his groan by recapturing Tony's mouth, their lips melding like puzzle pieces made only to fit each other. Steve's knee nudged it's way between Tony's thighs, and Tony reached a hand down, fingers slipping under the waistband of Steve's pants to relieve him of the growing problem Tony could feel against his own.

"Steve, I," Tony panted between kisses, "You, too. I, ah, love you, too."

"Tony," Steve murmured softly, still trying in vain to keep quiet. Then, when Tony twisted his wrist just so, "Oh God, Tony-!"

"Steve," Tony breathed like it was the only word he could say, tightening his grip as he kissed Steve quiet.

Neither of them lasted long after that.

When they'd both finished, Steve rolled off him with a panting, gasping huff, neither of them quite able to catch their breath just yet. He linked his fingers with Tony's and pulled their connected hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Tony's fingers before holding them to his chest.

"Gonna have to clean up soon," Steve murmured after a moment, "Or it'll stick."

"I've got washcloths in the bathroom," Tony huffed after a moment, still not quite willing to move yet, "Just…in a minute."

"Right," Steve nodded next to him.

They lay there for what felt like forever before Tony finally gave in the discomfort of the sticky mess on his stomach and stood, rolling his shoulders as he did. Steve was soon to follow, padding after him into the bathroom where Tony wet a washcloth and tossed it to him before doing the same for himself.

When Steve finished cleaning himself he put it on the counter and invaded Tony's space, taking Tony's face in his hands and kissing him possessively, no fire lost in spite of their mutual exhaustion. He lingered, a tenderness mixing with the passion that left Tony breathless.

"I love you," Steve told him gently when they separated, "I don't think I said it properly, before. But. I meant it."

"Good," Tony couldn't help a soft, surprised sort of laugh, "Because if you think I'm letting you go after  _that,_ you're crazy."

"I think it's fair to say we're both a little crazy at this point," Steve flushed adorably. And, because he wanted to and because he could, Tony reached with both hands to rub his thumbs over the red flush of Steve's cheeks, "Tony?"

"You're freaking adorable when you blush," Tony explained, not moving his hands, "Warm, too."

"Yeah, you, uh, did quite the job of warming me up," Steve smiled, his cheeks heating a bit more.

"Don't go," Tony murmured before he could stop himself. Then, to mask the raw sentimentality of that statement, tried to cover, "I mean, uh. It's cold. I don't want you to get sick or die or anything. I kind of, y'know, love you and all. So that'd, um. Suck."

"I have to," Steve bit his lip worriedly, "I don't want to. But I don't think your mother would be very pleased in the morning."

"My mom loved you."

"Not so much in your bed, I think."

"…alright, probably not."

Steve kissed Tony again, soft this time, then went to get his shirt off the floor.

"Don't get mad when I don't call in the morning."

"What?" Tony was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat, and it wasn't from the glorious view, "Why wouldn't you-?"

"You broke your phone, Tony. I'm just reminding you so you don't forget and think I'm not calling," Steve smiled fondly.

"Excuse you, I'm a genius. That is totally fixable."

"Whatever you say, Tony," Steve kissed his nose, because he was weird and adorable and perfect like that, then moved to go back out the window.

"Wait," Tony tugged on his hand, "Okay, you're like ten times hotter and more muscular than me, but I'm sure I can find you something."

"Muscular, maybe," Steve admitted, then, with an admiring look at Tony's form, "Hotter, I'm going to have to argue with."

"Excuse you, Mr. Greek God," Tony snorted, pulling his thickest winter jacket out of the closet, along with his fuzziest socks and biggest shoes, "I mean, sure, I look decent, but us mere mortals have a ways to go to compete with you in the looks departme-"

Steve stopped Tony mid-sentence, grabbing him by the waist and cutting him off with a searing kiss. When he decided Tony was sufficiently silenced-and, frankly, quite dazed, thanks, because Steve kisses were definitely not a drug he was going to get used to anytime soon-he pulled apart to nip at Tony's ear, whispering into it.

"No."

Steve took the clothes from Tony's hands and began to put them on. Tony eventually recovered from his Steve-induced shock, and frowned.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I  _mean_ , no. I  _mean_ , your 'mere mortal' thing is crap. I _mean_ , you're devastatingly handsome and I should know, because I've been admiring you for well over a year. I mean," Steve finished lacing up his shoes and stood to kiss Tony again and seriously, he was  _never_ going to get used to that, "I love you."

"Get out of here or I'm pulling you back into bed," Tony warned, and Steve smiled brilliantly.

"Tempting as that is, it's almost four in the morning."

"It's 10pm somewhere, I'm pretty sure we have the whole night."

"Goodnight, Tony," Steve pressed one last, all too brief kiss to Tony's lips before escaping out the window.

He was only gone a moment before Tony opened the window again and stuck his head out.

"Hey Steve!"

"What?"

"I love you!"

Steve's laughter echoed through the quiet night streets, and later in Tony's dreams.

"I love you too, Tony!"

* * *

This was a nightmare.

The San Francisco Chronicle alone had two pictures, one of Anthony locking lips with the mechanic, who Phil now knew to be named Steven, and one of Anthony only just barely covered by a beach towel. The dirtier gossip rags had at least a dozen pictures if not more-their only small bit of luck was that none of the shutterbugs were fast enough to snap a nude picture, though many came very, very close.

Fifteen and the boy was already stripping for photographers.

Phil gave an aggravated sigh, putting down the newspaper to examine the boy in front of him. Lord Almighty, the boy didn't even look repentant. He was twiddling his thumbs anxiously, a smile twitching at his lips. Frankly, he looked like he had a secret. Under normal circumstances, Phil might have been interested; he'd grown quite fond of his godson, and he hoped they might one day be as close as he'd been with Howard. Under these circumstances, however, Anthony's gleeful anxiousness was unwelcome and inappropriate.

"A picture's worth a thousand words," Phil began, "And you've got two."

"They're not  _that_ bad-"

"You're half naked in one and locking lips with a mechanic in another."

"You say mechanic like it's a bad thing," Anthony frowned, crossing his arms defensively, "And you said it didn't matter if I was gay."

"It doesn't matter who you're kissing, it matters that you're not doing it on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle."

"Well I certainly didn't fucking do it for them," Anthony snapped.

"Then you should have been more careful."

" _They_ ambushed  _me!"_ Anthony protested, hurt and anger mixing as he rose from his seat, "They invaded my privacy, messed up my night, damn near _ruined_  my relationship, and you're saying this is  _my_ fault?"

"I'm not saying it's your fault," Phil waved a hand for him to be seated again, and Anthony did so reluctantly, "I'm saying that you are a Prince. The press are always going to be a part of your life, and you're going to have to learn how to-"

"Fine. I apologize for embarrassing the family," Anthony met Phil's eyes, "I abdicate."

"You…?"

"From the throne," he clarified, "And don't worry, I won't come to the ball, either."

"You should still come," Phil said while he processed the thought of Anthony's abdication, "Whether or not you choose to rule, you're still family. Your mother's planning to come, and any friends you'd like to invite are welcome as well. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm meeting with the press in an hour to do damage control."

Anthony left without another word, and after a moment Phil sighed.

"If you've something to say you might as well come in."

Natasha slid into the room silently, though the air of disapproval was palpable.

"You think I was too hard on him."

"I certainly don't think it went well."

"Is this," Phil waved the newspaper plastered with Anthony's pictures at her, "The way a Prince should behave?"

"He was sold out by a young man I've since identified and warned against such behaviors," Natasha pursed her lips, and under other circumstances Phil might've laughed at what he could only imagine Natasha had done to the teen, "As for the other photo, he was tricked by some waspish girl into believing he would be left to change in privacy."

"He still should have had the common sense to deal with this-"

"The press are hard enough for someone his age to deal with, throw in that his peers tricked and used him to get their fifteen minutes of fame and I hardly think he could be expected to know what to do in such a situation."

"You think I was too harsh?" Phil shot her a look, "I hardly think one can be too critical of the person who could become the next ruler of their country."

"Perhaps not, but I think one can be too critical of their godson."

The statement hung thick in the air. Phil had never directly told Natasha he was Anthony's godfather, but he was in no way surprised she had deduced it. Howard had always very few real friends to begin with, and though Phil remained professional his growing affection for Anthony would most certainly be clear to someone who knew him as thoroughly as Natasha did.

He had the picture they'd taken at the Musée Mécanique framed on his desk, after all.

"Do you believe he can do it?"

"I have no doubts, sir."


	7. Chapter 7

Any worries Tony had about winning Bucky and Sam's approval were pointless.

Steve had work both Saturday and Sunday, so Tony thought he'd drop by, steal Steve for lunch, maybe ogle him in a muscle tee for a bit before heading out to let him work. Bucky and Sam had other plans; from the moment Tony walked in, they coaxed and cajoled until they eventually managed to convince him to stick around while Steve worked, maybe try his hand on one of the cars.

They mostly wanted him around so they could tease Steve about getting distracted, possibly make jokes about Tony getting lost in the sea of engines and car parts. What they didn't anticipate was Tony diving in headfirst, and not coming up for air until their most obnoxiously difficult project car was up and running, purring like it was hot off the line.

Bucky and Sam were rendered speechless, Steve was unbearably smug about it all afternoon, and Nick damn near hired Tony on the spot.

Tony said he'd think about the job offer if Nick let him whisk Steve away for an early lunch. Steve tried to protest, saying he shouldn't cut out on work, but Nick just threw a grease-stained rag at his head and told him to get the hell out already. Steve smothered a grin as Tony dragged him out of the shop, Bucky and Sam cat-calling after them.

Lunch was a diner around the block, where Tony told Steve about his decision to abdicate. Steve was troubled at first, convinced it was somehow his fault, before Tony shrugged his concerns off and effectively changed the subject. They spent the rest of lunch picking off each others plates, playing footsie under the table, and generally smiling at each other like smitten idiots.

The rest of the weekend was a similar hormone-infused, honeymoon-phase blur.

* * *

Half an hour after his Sunday night date with Steve, Tony's doorbell rang. Confused but happy, Tony breezed over to open the door.

"Hey Steve, forget someth-oh."

" _Oh?"_ Clint snapped, shoving past Tony and into the apartment, "You missed my show to make out with Steve on the cover of the Chronicle and then ignore my calls for two days, and all I get is an  _oh_  because I'm not  _Steve?"_

Tony winced; okay, he might've been a shitty friend lately. Clint was glaring at him poisonously, but he knew his friend well enough to hear the wounded tone of voice.

"I didn't mean  _bad_ oh, just a surprised oh, I wasn't expecting you to drop by. I wasn't ignoring your calls, I promise, my phone's just busted and mom won't take me to get a new one until tomorr-whoa, what happened to your eyebrow?"

"I was counting on you and you ditched me for your boy toy, that's what happened!"

"He's not a boy toy _-"_

" _That's_ the problem you want to get into right now?"

"No, no, it's not," Tony hastily amended, "Clint, I'm sorry. And I mean, really, really sorry-"

"I had to substitute you with Loki.  _Loki,_ Tony! He damn near burned down the school, not to mention my face, and Darcy and I had to spend fucking  _hours_ Friday night cleaning up the AV room so no one thought we'd been attacked by magical looters with flamethrowers!"

"I didn't do it on  _purpose,_ I just forgot-"

"You didn't forget to make out with Muscles McGee!"

"I said I was sorry, okay? I forgot you'd asked me to come on the show, I didn't mean to ditch you, I wouldn't do that to you, I just, I've had so much going on lately, it feels like I haven't even been able to breathe, much less get all my shit straight."

Clint looked at Tony thoughtfully, relenting a bit.

"Look, I know you've got a lot on your mind with all this Prince stuff, and god knows you've been waiting for this whole Steve thing for fucking ever, but I just…" Clint trailed off, seeming frustrated, before admitting with a mumble, "I just feel like maybe you're trying to leave me behind, or something."

"What?" Tony frowned, his answer immediate, "Are you fucking kidding? Clint, how could I even function without you? Look, Steve's great and all, but you're my best friend. That's not going to change for a Princehood or a boyfriend or anything, okay? I'm not trying to leave you behind, I'm just trying to keep my sanity intact."

"I know," Clint shifted, shrugging his shoulders, "And I know I can be a demanding little shithead sometimes, and I get that you've got all this crazy fuckery going on in your life, but I just…you can talk to me about it, y'know? That's kinda what I'm fucking here for."

"Well, if it helps, we can take 'royal fuckery' off the 'crazy shit in Tony's life' platter," Tony sighed.

"What? Why?" Clint gaped.

"What do you mean, why? I thought you were dead set against it!" Tony exclaimed.

"Well, yeah, okay, maybe a little at first," Clint admitted, "When you were all famous and popular and I felt like I was gonna get left behind while you jetted off to start some royal life with Steve or whatever, but, that was just me being jealous, y'know? I think…you being a Prince…hell, it's kind of a miracle."

"A  _miracle?"_ it was Tony's turn to gape, "Clint, I'm a  _disaster_ as a Prince."

"Yeah, okay, so you tripped up a bit," Clint shrugged, "So what? Tony, you're fifteen, and you have the kind of power to affect change most people can only dream of. My cable show? It reaches twelve people. And that includes me and Darce. You…you can make people  _listen_ to you."

"I don't want them to listen," Tony frowned, "Every time I open my royal mouth, something stupid comes out."

"Just…think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Tony gave a half-hearted shrug type of motion, then, changing tactics, "Hey, Prince or not, I've still gotta go to the Genovian Independence Day ball tomorrow night. You're officially invited, if I'm officially forgiven?"

There was a long pause, before Clint cracked a smile.

"Of course you're forgiven, idiot. Now what the hell am I supposed to wear to a ball?"

* * *

"Prince! Prince, over here!"

"Hey, can we get a smile?"

"Come on, just one question?"

Tony ducked past the reporters with a scowl. Steve had gone to school early, something about needing to talk to a teacher, so they said they'd meet out front. In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea. Tony and Clint had already met up with Darcy, who was talking animatedly with Clint about something AV club related, while Tony tried to spot Steve in the chaos. He didn't see Steve, but he did see a group of elementary school kids trying to wave him down, asking for autographs. Strangely touched, Tony made his way to them.

"Hi Prince!"

"Look, it's Prince Tony!"

"Prince Tony, can I have your autograph?" one of the boys pushed a pad of paper and a pen into Tony's hands.

"What's your name?" he asked while scribbling down the usual  _Prince Anthony Edward Carter Stark,_ before second-guessing himself, scratching it out in a favor of what the kids had called him,  _Prince Tony._ It sounded better, simpler. More familiar.

"My name is Steven!" the boy announced proudly, puffing out his chest.

"Steven, huh?" Tony smiled as he passed back the notepad, "That happens to be my favorite name."

"Oh, gag me," Clint rolled his eyes, making a gagging motion to Darcy, who snickered next to him.

"That's my best friend," Tony whispered conspiratorially to Steven, "He's just jealous because he wants people to take his picture too."

"Prince Tony's spreading lies," Clint insisted, crossing his arms huffily.

"You're his best friend?" Steven asked in awe, "Like, in the whole wide  _world?"_

"Uh, try the  _universe_."

"Can I have your autograph?" Steven held up the pad to Clint next, eyes going all wide and hopeful, and Clint melted a little.

"Of course, who wouldn't want my autograph?" Clint tried to maintain his smugness, but there was a real smile under his cheeky grin as he signed with a flourish,  _Clinton Francis Barton, royal best friend._

Someone grabbed Tony by the arm, and for a brief moment, Tony thought it was Steve. Then a videocamera was two inches from his face, and Janet was tucking her arm into Tony's.

"What're you-?" he tried to wiggle away, but damn, for a tiny little cheerleader she sure had a hell of a grip.

"What would you say about your and the Prince's relationship?" the reporter thrust a microphone towards Janet, who smiled charmingly.

"Well he's my boyfriend of course," she batted her eyelashes at him, talking right over Tony when he tried to protest, correct her, or even just laugh, "We go out all the time. We do everything together, we're just so in love, you know? When it's right, you just kno-"

It was at that moment that Steve swung up behind them, threw an arm around Tony's shoulders and tugged him into a quite possessive kiss. When he eventually released him, it was with a rather smug smile in Jan's direction.

"Sorry Tony, I didn't mean to interrupt your 'girlfriend'. What was that you were lying, Jan?"

There was silence for the briefest of moments, broken first by Clint's snorting, hysterical laughter and then with an absolute barrage of questions from the reporters. Tony waved them all off with a 'no comment' as Natasha hustled him inside, Steve and Clint two steps behind.

"Is this the part where you chastise me for kissing in front of reporters?" Tony winced as Natasha pushed him through security, "Cause for the record, that was totally awesome but also totally not my idea-"

"I think he handled the situation quite effectively," Natasha just told him, the smallest of smiles on her face, "And more importantly, I saw the look in his eyes. He did that for you, not for the cameras. He's good to you, yes?"

"Yeah," Tony couldn't resist smiling, "He's great."

"Who is?" Steve asked as he and the others caught up, slipping his hand into Tony's without a second thought.

"You, of course," Tony squeezed his hand, while Clint rolled his eyes.

"Is this what my life is going to be like now?" Clint complained.

"If it makes you feel any better," Bucky and Sam caught up with them in the hallway, Bucky clapping a hand on Clint's shoulder supportively while Natasha quietly slipped away, "We've been dealing with Steve's sentimental bullshit since freshman year."

"You learn to ignore it," Sam agreed.

"Your friends are jerks," Tony pointed out with a grin.

"Yours still won't even refer to me by name," Steve countered, "I'm always Blondie, Muscles, or Spangles. I don't even know where that last one came from."

"Oh, I haven't told you about that? Well, this one time, Tony-" Clint began, but Tony tackled him, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"You swore you'd take it to your grave, Barton," Tony hissed.

"Your boyfriend is crazy, man," Sam chuckled.

"I know," Steve just smiled.

* * *

For once, one thing in Tony's life was easy.

Tony and Steve's friend groups meshed together well, which meant neither or them would have to be running interference, or dividing their time between groups and each other or any of it. The six of them-he, Steve, Clint, Darcy, Sam and Bucky-ended up snagging a table in the cafeteria, though their table was unfortunately close to the Avengers.

They were tittering about something or the other, and the term "Prince Puckerup" and "grease boy" gave Tony brief pause, but Darcy, seeing him glare in their direction, was quick to distract him.

"Hey, Tony, wanna see a trick? Loki taught me-"

" _That's_ not going to end well," Clint interrupted with a snort, "Besides, if you burn his royal eyebrows off like Loki did mine, you could probably get thrown in jail, or beheaded or something."

"Hey, I'm way better at this than Loki, okay?" Darcy insisted, "That guy's insane."

"Agreed. Also, I'm like 64% sure Genovia doesn't still behead people," Tony rolled his eyes.

"That's supposed to be a reassuring percentage?" Steve looked at Tony incredulously.

"Yes?" Tony smiled weakly, "No? I don't know, it didn't really come up in between the dining etiquette and the posture practice and the 'learning a whole new language' bit."

"Genovia has it's own language?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"No, they mostly speak French, but, hey, guess what idiot took Spanish instead?" Tony snorted.

"No, no, I bet they do behead people though," Clint gestured wildly with his fork, "Think about it, everyone we've met from that country is freaking deadly. Nat could choke out a sumo wrestler with those gorgeous thighs, King Phil could-"

"I'm sorry,  _what_ did you say about my bodyguard?"

"-totally kill someone with, like, a stapler if he had to, and that even Pepper chick you told us about sounds like she could kill you without so much as getting blood on her skirt. You've got the blood of a ninja in you, man."

"Natasha's going to kill you if she hears you talking about her like that," Tony pointed out.

"Not to mention it's rude," Steve added, looking a bit disapproving.

"Please, Nat loves me," Clint waved them off, leaning back in his chair.

Which was precisely when Tiberius leaned over and slyly tipped his chair, sending Clint sprawling to the floor.

Clint swore as his head hit the ground, and Tony was on his feet in less than a minute. Steve's hand went to Tony's wrist in warning, while Sam and Darcy helped Clint up.

"He's not worth it, Tony, let's just-"

"That's right, listen to your girlfriend, you pathetic little freak," Ty smirked.

A large part of Tony wanted to flat out punch Ty, but a larger part of him didn't want to get expelled. Also, he had a very strong feeling Steve Would Not Approve, and it was a little early in the relationship for disappointment. So instead, Tony whirled around, grabbed a nice, big handful of his mac and cheese, and flung it right in Ty's face.

"Maybe I am a freak," Tony growled at him, "But you know what? Someday I might grow out of that. You? You are always going to be an asshole."

There was a brief moment of utter silence.

Then the cafeteria exploded into an all-out war; it didn't exactly take a whole lot to convince teenagers to throw food. In the midst of the pandemonium, Tony caught a glimpse of Natasha out of the corner of his eye, before Steve grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the line of fire. Sam and Bucky got into a breadstick death match, while Steve hoisted up one of the tables for them to duck behind. They hid there with Clint and Darcy, who used it as cover while they fired off grapes and anything else bit-sized they could find to shoot at people, using rubber bands as launchers.

"You have freaky aim with that thing," Tony commented as Clint shot Janet right in the eye.

"It's a bit disturbing," Steve agreed, wide-eyed.

"Archery," Clint shrugged, but he was grinning ear to ear, "Told you we need it in schools."

"Whatever you say, man," Tony held his hands up in a sign of peace. Then, Steve caught sight of something and crawled over Tony's lap to get a better look, a determined glint in his eyes, "Uh, Steve?"

"Minute," Steve mumbled, still focused on his target.

Then, quick as a flash, he darted from Tony's side and out into open fire. He slid across the linoleum, dashing by one of the tables to grab an abandoned plate of spaghetti. With reflexes worthy of a ninja, Steve dodged and weaved out of the way of people and food alike until he was close enough to his target to strike.

At which point he dumped the entire plate of spaghetti down the back of Tiberius' pants.

He then looped an arm around Ty's neck, partially as a human shield from the chaos, and partially to darkly mutter something into his ear that had Ty going deathly pale and nodding hastily. Steve, seeming satisfied, shoved Ty into the mess and darted back over to take cover behind the table once again, where Tony, Clint, and Darcy were all waiting in astonishment.

There was a beat of silence, before Tony's mouth betrayed him.

"Is it bad that I'm super turned on right now?"

Steve flushed, Clint groaned, and Darcy just laughed.

"Not the time, idiot," Clint shoved Tony aside, crawling closer to Steve, eyeing him like he was suddenly going to go all guerilla-deadly on them again, "And just where did  _that_ come from, Blondie?"

"What?" Steve scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "That? Oh, that was just, y'know, nothing."

"You looked like you were going to  _murder_ him," Darcy said gleefully, "I've never seen him look so terrified. That was fantastic!"

"What did you say to him?" Tony questioned.

"Just the usual. You know," Steve cleared his throat, trying to go for nonchalant and failing, "That if he calls my boyfriend a freak again they'll never find his body?"

Tony couldn't bring himself to do anything but  _stare_ at Steve, who was ducking his head, the tips of his ears red. How did someone this freaking perfect even exist, and why on earth did he want anything to do with Tony? Steve seemed to take his silence as disapproval, and he stammered to explain further.

"I'm sorry, I suppose I overreacted, I just…I didn't want him thinking he could say those things to you, because you're  _not_ a freak, Tony, you're not, you're wonderful and perfect and I love you and I don't want you to think he has any right to say things like that or that they're even remotely true because I-mmph."

Tony had been sitting there, watching Steve keep talking while he tried to find the words to express the weird, bubbling sort of  _happiness_ in his chest, but he couldn't, so in the end he just grabbed Steve by the collar and kissed him until he couldn't breathe.

"I love you too, idiot," Tony grinned when they had to pull away, "Also, you're crazy hot when you're terrifying."

Steve just laughed and kissed him again, a response Tony was definitely satisfied with. At least, he was until a tomato pelted him in the ear.

"Clint!"

Luckily, Tony was able to escape blame for the food fight. By the time the teachers showed up, it was so far gone no one was able to pinpoint who'd started the affair. Tony had thought Ty would rat him out, but when Principal Hill asked Ty if he knew anything, Ty just shook his head furiously, glancing worriedly at Steve before examining his shoelaces intently.

Had he mentioned lately that Steve was  _awesome?_

Before they went their separate ways, Tony had even invited them all to the Genovian Independence Day ball, making a point of asking Steve to be his escort. Well, that made him sound a bit smoother than he'd been. In reality, it had gone a bit more along the lines of:

"So guys, there's this Genovian Independence Day ball tomorrow night. You're all invited, if you can find suits and can manage to get spaghetti sauce out of your hair by then."

While they all nodded their agreements and planned their outfits, Tony turned to Steve.

"And um, well, I can bring a date-an escort, it's called-and I mean, I'm sure it's boring, I don't really know why you'd want to go, but I just thought maybe-"

"If you want me to go-"

"Only if you wanted-"

"I do, I'd love to, I mean, if you want me to-"

"Sure, yeah, that'd be-"

"Oh my God, just have each other's babies and be done with it already," Clint had interrupted them to announce dramatically, causing Steve to blush and Tony to throw his pen at Clint's head.

Either way, Steve was going, which would make the whole disastrous affair about ten times better.

* * *

Only two hours until the ball, and Tony was doing his best not to think about it. He hauled his backpack downstairs, contemplating doing some homework, before changing his mind and tossing his backpack on the couch to go get some food from the kitchen instead.

"Do you treat all your houseguests this way?"

"Oh!" Tony startled, quickly picking his backpack up off Phil's lap where he'd inadvertently tossed it, "Sorry. Uh, what're you doing in my apartment?"

"No matter," Phil brushed himself off, "I came to apologize."

"You…what?"

"For the beach incident. I handled things poorly," Phil conceded, nodding his head to the other end of the couch, "Please, come sit. Hear me out."

"Okay," Tony sat down numbly, shocked that Phil even knew what an apology was. Wasn't that an "unkingly" thing to do? He wisely kept the smartass remark to himself, however, letting Phil continue.

"I was too quick to judge you. I didn't pause to verify the facts, or ask you for your side of the story. I've been thinking about it, and you, a great deal, Anthony. The truth is, I think you'd made a very fine Prince, and someday, an even better King."

"I really don't-" Tony started to wave him off, but Phil forged on.

"People seem to assume that all Princes do is wear the crown, marry the princess, live happily ever after, but it's so much more than that. It's a very real job, one that can be very trying, but one that I do believe you're well-suited for."

"You don't understand, you…" Tony ran an aggravated hand through his hair, "You're an extraordinary person, okay? You're unflappable, the kind of person who's got their whole life in control and can get people to do anything they ask and-"

"Anthony-"

"You're made for this, okay? I'm…not. I wish I could be like you, but I'm not. That's not who I am."

"No, it's not. And that's why you will make a much better King than I ever did. But I can still offer you guidance and advice, as…" Phil hesitated, for the first time Tony had ever seen, "As any godfather should offer his godson."

Tony blinked. Then,

" _What?"_

"I thought perhaps you ought to know."

"That's…that's why…and you…the time…" Tony babbled, not making much sense to anyone but himself, trailing off as he connected the dots, "You're my godfather?"

"Yes," Phil nodded, "I thought it best to perhaps…ease you into the idea. I hope you're not upset?"

"Not upset, just…processing."

* * *

Outside, Natasha stood guard. Bruce, the neighbor, seemed to be watching her, so she raised an eyebrow at him in question.

"I wrote a character just like you, once," he answered, "She was a deadly assassin trained in all forms of martial arts, protecting her employer with her life because she owed him a debt. She was cold and often quiet, but she grew to care for her ward a great deal."

Natasha looked up sharply, her answer immediate.

"That's preposterous."

"That's what the character said."

They stared at each other for a long moment, until the neighbor broke into a laugh.

"I'm sorry, that was mean," he smiled, "There's no character, Tony told me the assassin stuff, and I know from personal experience that it's impossible to be around Tony for any length of time without warming up to the kid."

"He's…" Natasha gave a light huff, wondering when Tony had managed to deduce her background as an assassin, "Something."

"No kidding. Well, at least I can have fun telling people that the future King of Genovia once gave my microwave an Artificial Intelligence unit that sounds like a sassy black woman."

Natasha blinked, clearly taken aback, then pulled herself together, "Well. Unfortunately for the sake of your story, he is no longer going to be King."

"Hm," Bruce just hummed, jotting something down in his notepad, "Too bad. But I suppose time will tell, won't it?"

* * *

Tony supposed maybe he should be upset, but he couldn't bring himself to be. He liked Phil. It wasn't like he'd had a whole lot of great male role models in his life anyway. Besides, it was a whole lot easier to think of him as his godfather than 'his dead father's ex-secretary who now ruled the country he was supposed to inherit'. It was a bit long.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts," Phil stood, "I came only to apologize, and to remind you that should you truly not wish to be Prince, you'll have to make a renouncement speech at tonight's ball. I haven't told anyone, so if you've changed you-"

"Wait, what?" Tony paled, dropping his backpack like a rock, "A speech? Like a  _speech_ speech?"

"Well, yes."

"Uh, well, see, do you think that, maybe, considering my history with the press and all that you might, um, do the whole public speaking bit?"

"Oh, nonsense, you'll be fine," Phil waved, oblivious to Tony's inner distress, "Look how far you've come already. Besides, I'll be right there with you. I'll have Natasha return for you in an hour for the ball, and-"

"No," Tony blurted, then, thinking fast on feet, "I mean, um, my mom's gonna drive me. Something about, uh, wanting to drive me to my first ball. Or something."

"Are you certain?" Phil seemed unsure, and Tony wondered if maybe he'd seen through the lie.

"Yeah, no, definitely. Totally," Tony waved him off, backing away, "So, I'm just gonna head to the dungeon now, go work on some, uh. Stuff. And things."

"Alright," Phil nodded a bit hesitant, but agreeing easily enough, "I suppose I'll see you tonight, then?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded, then, "Uh, Phil?"

"Yes?"

"I…" Tony paused, trying to sort out everything he wanted to say. Eventually, he landed on the simplest, "I'm sorry. Really. About…everything."

"Anthony…" Phil paused, seeming conflicted, then crossed over to hug him. It was brief and crisp and a bit awkward, as if Phil wasn't quite sure how these things were done. He patted Tony lightly on the back once before releasing him, looking the closest thing to embarrassed Tony would probably ever see him, "Don't be. You are, first and foremost, my godson. That won't change. Now, ah, if you'll excuse me."

Phil vanished out the door, and Tony felt ten different kinds of awful for what he was about to do.

It wasn't enough to stop him from doing it, though. Tony raced upstairs, grabbing a suitcase from the closet down the hall and hauled it to his room. He spent the next half hour grabbing pictures and books and clothes and shoving as much into the suitcase as he could, then pulled the cat carrier out from under his bed and started chasing down Rhodey.

"C'mere Rhodey, we're just going on a little trip, okay?" Tony coaxed as the cat avoided him nimbly, "Just you, me, and Steve. I know you like Steve, you little rascal, you met him this weekend, remember? He gave you those treats, and petted you just how you like it. You probably like him better than me now, huh?"

The cat flicked it's tail at him, and Tony smiled.

"Yeah, I like him too. So we're just gonna all go on a nice trip together, okay? Somewhere where no one recognizes me, where I don't have to make speeches or rule a country or be some royal freakshow."

The cat eyed him a moment, then, as if sensing Tony needed some affection at the moment, padded over to nuzzle at Tony's hands.

* * *

"Natasha?" Pepper weaved her way through the growing crowd until she reached Natasha's side. She glanced at her phone, "Shouldn't you have left to retrieve the Prince by now? It's nearly seven."

"Anthony told Phillip that his mother wanted to drive him," Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"Peggy just arrived," Pepper frowned, "She said Tony was waiting for you."

Natasha's expression was both grave and exasperated.

"He's going to run."

* * *

Tony plucked his new phone off the bedside table, dialing Steve's number and putting the phone to his ear while he continued to pack.

"C'mon, Steve, pick up, pick up…"

"Hello?"

"Steve!" Tony couldn't help the relief that colored his voice, "How do you feel about Oregon?"

"The state?"

"Well, yes. I don't know, I've heard it's nice, a bit rainy, but it's really green because of it, and you like nature, so I thought maybe we should go."

"Uh," Steve seemed a bit taken aback by Tony's abruptness, but then he laughed, "Sure, Tony. We can go to Oregon someday if you want."

"How does now sound?"

" _Now,_ now?"

"Yes, now, now. I'm all packed, I even managed to get Rhodey tucked away in his carrier thing, and I've got clothes and plenty of money saved up, so if you can be packed in like fifteen minutes I can come by and we can-"

"Tony, wait, slow down-"

"-run away together and forget all this stupid royalty stuff and-"

"This is about tonight, isn't it?"

"No, well, yes, maybe, a little bit, I just, can't we just run away together? I hear Oregon is really nice this time of year, we can get an apartment and there's-"

"Tony, there's nothing to worry about, tonight's going to be fine-"

"-plenty of rock-climbing places in Oregon, I can get a job up there, and I'm sure Oregonians have cars, they could totally use a mechanic and Rhodey can do his cat thing anywhere and we could-"

"Baby, relax, take a breath-"

"-just run away and be happy together away from all this fucking pressure, don't you want that too?"

"I want you to be happy," Steve agreed, "But I don't think running away will solve anything."

"You won't come?" Tony paused, something in his chest hurting just at the thought.

"If you absolutely insist on this insanity, of course I'm not letting you run away without me," Steve sighed over the phone, a burst of a static, and relief shot straight to Tony's heart, "But I'd really like to finish high school before going on the run with you. Also, I'm in a suit and that's not really proper runaway clothing."

"I bet you look delicious in a suit," Tony admitted, temporarily distracted.

"Why don't we go to the ball and you can find out?"

"Cheater!" Tony accused.

"Listen, you can do this, okay?" Steve persuaded, "I know you can. You're amazing, Tony, and you'll be amazing at whatever you set your mind to do. If you don't want to be King, then don't, but if this is just you worrying that you won't do a good job, it's ridiculous. You'd make a wonderful King."

"You think?"

"I'd vote for you," Steve joked.

"You're biased."

"Of course I am."

Tony sighed, leaning back onto his bed.

"You're the best, you know that?"

"Of course I am," Steve teased, "I take it we're postponing the roadtrip, then?"

"Raincheck?"

"Probably for the best," Steve smiled, "Tell you what, after we graduate, we can hop in the car and hit the road. Anywhere you want to go."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Just you, me, and the open road."

"Rhodey too?"

"What's a roadtrip without a cat?"

"God, I love you."

"I love you too, Tony. Pick me up in fifteen?"

"You got it. See you soon, Steve."


	8. Chapter 8

"The trip's off, Rhodey," Tony rolled off his bed, leaning down to unlatch Rhodey's cat carrier, then glanced at the clock.

Oh god, he was going to be so late.

No time to change, he grabbed a jacket from the hastily packed suitcase and shrugged it on while he raced out the door and into the alley where he'd parked. It was, of course, pouring absolute  _buckets._ Tony yanked the rain cover off and went to pull the hood of the car up-it was, of course, jammed.

"C'mon, baby, pretty please…" Tony coaxed, yanking and rattling and pushing it, to no avail. Giving up on the immovable hood, Tony slid into the front seat and started the car.

Well, tried to start the car.

"Are you  _fucking_ serious?" Tony swore as the car revved and died each time he turned the key, "Don't do this to me baby…gotcha!"

The engine fired up at last, and Tony hit the gas excitedly.

Forgetting, of course, that he was still in reverse.

The car bumped back up into Bruce's garbage cans, and the overly loud clattering echoed through the alley. Bruce came out to see what the fuss was about, and Tony waved guiltily while switching gears.

"Wha…" Bruce gaped at the mess, then something occurred to him, "Wait, you aren't sixteen yet, you can't drive-"

"IloveyouBruciepleasedon'ttattle?" Tony blurted, looking at Bruce imploringly, "Please? I've got a ball to get to."

"Looking like  _that?"_ Bruce raised an eyebrow at Tony's soaked jeans and hoodie.

"All the Princes are wearing it these days?" Tony tried weakly.

"Go get yourself a country," Bruce waved him on, "When you get back, I want that mess picked up."

"You're the best!" Tony grinned, hitting the gas, "I'll upgrade your toaster, or something, I promise!"

"Yeah," Bruce snorted to himself, retreating back inside, "Like I need another appliance to make fun of my meal choices."

Less than five minutes later, someone was banging down his door. Grumbling to himself, he answered it to find the red-headed assassin-turned-bodyguard, looking drenched and furious.

"The boy."

"Wrong apartment."

"I'm aware," she snapped, "He's not there."

He didn't ask many questions when it came to Tony's apparent royalty. He'd seen bits about it on tv, he'd heard some complaints from the boy himself when they'd worked on projects over the past few weeks, but he didn't pry and he didn't want to. He knew Tony generally liked his bodyguard though; if he was keen on suddenly evading her, Bruce figured the least he could do was buy the teen a couple extra minutes.

"Keep me out of your crazy royal affairs," Bruce waved a hand dismissively.

"Where did he go?" it seemed she wasn't to be dissuaded so easily.

"I'm not his bodyguard. Perhaps you should ask them."

He was playing with fire with that last quip, but it was well worth the look on her face. He tried to keep his laugh internal.

"Humorous," she replied dryly after a moment, "I won't ask again."

"Have a nice night, then," he attempted to close the door but she shouldered it open with impressive force, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and lifting him right off his feet.

"I'm looking for the royal heir to my country, you do not wish to trifle with me right now."

He supposed he'd bought Tony enough of a headstart.

"Left ten minutes ago, out the alley and to the right."

"Thank you," she didn't smile, just released him and took off back down the alley, disappearing into the rainy night.

Bruce returned to his tea and book with a sigh, wondering when his life had gotten quite so dramatic.

* * *

"Miss Potts," Phil raised an eyebrow, "You're fidgeting."

"What? Of course not," Pepper's hands instantly stilled, and Phil drew her aside.

"Is everything alright?"

"No, I mean, yes, everything's perfect, it's wonderful, of course it is," Pepper gave him a too-bright smile, and he gave her a knowing look.

"You're not a particularly good liar, are you, dear?"

"…no," she gave up, "Tony's missing. His mother thought Natasha was bringing him, Natasha thought his mother was, and he's nowhere to be found. Natasha's out tracking him down as we speak, but no luck so far."

"Ah," Phil nodded, feeling a bit light-headed suddenly.

Had it been him? Was it something he'd said? Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned being Tony's godfather. Or maybe it was something else-the boy had gone awfully pale when Phil had mentioned a speech.

"The press are beginning to complain about making their deadlines," Pepper sighed, "What should we do?"

"If he's not here in fifteen minutes, I'll make the announcement myself," Phil conceded at last.

He'd been so sure that he might've gotten Anthony to reconsider…but this made the boy's choice all too obvious.

* * *

"C'mon baby, you can make it, I believe in you!" Tony was trying to coax his baby up San Francisco's notorious hills, but it was slow going.

Not to mention, he wasn't exactly the best driver to begin with, so going up massive hills in the rain in a very old, very open roof car was probably not a great plan. Then, just as he turned onto Steve's street, his baby gave a whining sort of sound, and died.

Tony let his head fall back, glaring up at the pouring rain.

"Is this punishment for driving without a license?" Tony shouted at the dark skies, before leaning over and collapsing onto the seat, muttering to himself, "I give up. I am cold, I am wet, and I am a complete disaster at literally everything ever."

"If it helps, I think you're a very handsome disaster."

Tony sat up abruptly, smacking his knee on the steering wheel, not that he could bring himself to care.

"Steve!"

"Hey," Steve smiled at him, pulling him into a quick, reassuring kiss before pulling back to rest his chin on the car door and look at Tony sympathetically, "Rough night?"

"You have no idea," Tony attempted a smile back, but it was weak around the edges, "Phil probably thinks I bailed on him. He's going end up announcing that I'm not fit to be Prince, and that'll be the end of it."

"Do you want that to be the end of it?"

"No," Tony admitted.

"Then we've got a ball to get to, don't we?" Steve extended a hand to Tony, "Put it in neutral and I'll help you push it to my place."

"Then?" Tony accepted the hand, and Steve helped get him out of the car.

"Then we run like hell to the embass-"

"Holy shit,"Tony interrupted, damn near swallowing his tongue when got a good look at Steve.

"What?" Steve paused, frowning curiously, "Do you have a better plan?"

"No, I mean, you…" Tony gestured to Steve, suddenly quite breathless,  _"Wow."_

He was in a steel grey, crisply cut suit, matched with a soft blue shirt that matched his eyes perfectly. Even soaking wet, or perhaps  _especially_ soaking wet, the suit fit him quitewell, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist, smooth lines with emphasis in all the right places. The rest of him was just as nicely decked out, all coifed hair and shiny shoes, altogether utterly striking.

"I am  _so_  keeping you," Tony blurted, unable to stop his eyes from wandering and not even trying.

"I'm keeping you too, Tony," Steve laughed, "Now can we start pushi-?"

"No, no," Tony interrupted, because clearly Steve did not understand, "Like,  _forever._ You're now officially stuck with me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Steve laughed again, but there was a distinct pinkness to his cheeks that wasn't entirely the cold, "Now, do you want to park your baby, or would you prefer a hobo steal it?"

"Okay, okay, let's push."

They got half a block before Steve realized something.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that my sweatshirt?"

"Finders keepers?" Tony tried with a grin.

"Where did you find it, my bedroom?"

"…potentially," Tony ducked his head, the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks, "I, uh. Remember when you went to the bathroom, and when you came back I was sitting on your bed all innocent-like?"

"And when I asked you why you were looking at me like that you kissed me to shut me up?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I would've said yes anyway, you goof."

"Did you just call the Prince of Genovia a  _goof?"_

"You're going to have fun pulling that card when we get into arguments, aren't you?" Steve groaned.

"Yeah, well, you're having royal sex, so I wouldn't complain too much," Tony winked.

Steve flushed, but before he could shoot back a reply, there was a honking sound from behind them. They turned to see a limo, Genovian mini-flags waving in the wind. Natasha exited the vehicle, eyeing them both suspiciously.

"You wouldn't happen to be running away, would you?"

"What, looking like this?" Tony grinned, "Nah, I'm on my way to accept the Crown Princehood of Genovia."

Steve rolled his eyes fondly and Natasha just sighed, manhandling them both into the backseat and instructing her trainee to get Tony's car back to his apartment.

Once she was alone in the front seat, she allowed herself a smile.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, his majesty, the King."

Phil stepped up to the podium, holding his head high as he addressed his people.

"My fellow Genovians, and honored guests. Good evening, I apologize for the delay. Welcome to our grand Independence Day ball. I thank you for your patience, and I have an announcement to make, Prince Anthony-"

"Ahem!" there was a loud coughing noise to Phil's right, "A _hem!"_

Anthony was sopping wet in ragged jeans and a baggy, oversized sweatshirt, and he looked like something the cat dragged in, but his eyes were apologetic and hopeful.

Phil had never been happier to see him.

"Prince Anthony has arrived," he announced, "With a fascinating explanation for his wardrobe choices, I'm sure."

"Hi, uh, hello. I'm Tony, er, Anthony, but you all knew that," he waved to the crowd weakly, "Well, it, uh, it stopped raining, at least?"

Silence. Oh boy.

In the crowd, Clint elbowed Darcy.

"Why didn't we dress like that?" he whispered insistently, "We look like idiots!"

"So, obviously, I'm really terrible at speeches. Which, isn't exactly convincing on behalf of my leadership skills, but. Um. You probably didn't need to know that," Tony fidgeted, fiddling with his shirt cuff nervously, "Anyway, I kind of get nervous about stuff, a lot, things like speeches and princely procedures and learning how to rule a country. So, uh, these last few weeks have been…strange. There was a lot of pressure on me to just suddenly… _know_ what to do and how to act when, hey, I'm still fifteen, and a few weeks ago I was pretty much invisible. And at first…I was afraid. I was so sure that if I became your Prince, I'd mess everything up, that I'd fail on a huge, almost unimaginable scale, and that…well, it terrified me, but…I'm not afraid anymore."

Tony took a breath. Everyone seemed to be listening, and he hadn't thrown up yet and Phil wasn't looking like he was going to have him escorted off the stage, so. So far so good, right? His gaze landed on Steve, who gave him an encouraging smile; steadied, he took another deep breath, and continued.

"Earlier this evening I had every intention of giving up my claim to the throne. My mom helped me by telling me that was okay, by supporting me no matter what my decision, like she has for my entire life," he found his mom in the crowd, and she dabbed at her eyes, smiling proudly back, "King Phillip helped me too. He showed me that there's more to ruling than having perfect posture and always knowing what to say. He taught me that it's about leading your people the best that you can, and trusting yourself to make the right decisions. He believed in me, and it was that faith, from him, from my mom and Clint and Natasha and Steve," Tony glanced to the side, flashing Steve a brief smile, "It was that faith that gave me the confidence I needed to think clearly, to make the decision without fear clouding my judgment. And, with a clear head, I…I choose to be Anthony Edward Carter Stark, Prince of Genovia."

The applause was immediate, and Tony smiled, waving a hesitant hand in acknowledgement. Phil stepped forward, Natasha two steps behind him, holding out a plush pillow with a elegant crown resting on it. The crown was simple yet elegant, a soft golden with rubies dotted along the arches and a single, bright blue sapphire embedded in the very center.

"This was your father's very first crown," Phil murmured to Tony as he placed the crown on Tony's head, the crowd too lively for anyone else to hear them speak, "He was quite fond of it. I'd hoped you might be too."

"How…" Tony faltered, taken aback by the gesture. He touched the crown lightly, reverently, "How did you know I'd accept?"

"I've known your father for decades, Anthony," Phil's lips gave a little quirk, "I know when to have faith."

* * *

After a quick change and towel off, Tony was suited up and led out to the dance floor. He and Phil walked around the circle, a traditional sweep of the room, before bowing to each other. Then one of the female dignitaries stepped forward to meet Phil, and the Prime Minister's daughter, Marissa, stepped forward to meet Tony, and they led off the first dance of the night.

After a few beats other couples took to the floor as well, and it wasn't long before Marissa felt a tapping on her shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

Tony's smile widened, and he gave Marissa one last twirl before releasing her and turning to Steve, who was beaming at him proudly. Steve made to take Tony's hand, but it was customary to bow before dancing. Tony quickly demonstrated, gesturing covertly for Steve to do so as well. He did, then clasped Tony's hands in his much larger, much warmer own, and Tony resisted the urge to curl into his warmth.

"I'm afraid I don't know the steps," Steve admitted, stumbling a bit, "I never learned."

"Just follow my lead," Tony covered for Steve's faltering smoothly, "Future reference, you're supposed to bow first. Especially when dancing with yourPrince."

"Mm," Steve hummed a reply, suddenly seeming a bit distracted.

Tony frowned, confused; he'd been expecting a reply more along the lines of 'nice try, but I live in America, land of the free' comment. They continued the dance in silence, Steve seeming to become increasingly distracted the more he messed up the footwork. It didn't matter much to Tony-though admittedly, his feet were a bit sore, but hey, he'd been worse than Steve at first-but Steve kept glancing away, over Tony's shoulder.

"Steve, are you okay?" Tony questioned at last, and Steve gave him an indecipherable look.

"Could we maybe go outside?"

The sentence was like a bucket of ice water of the head. It wasn't a flirty invitation, it was a distracted, fidgety question, and it made Tony suddenly very anxious.

"The fountain is out those doors," Tony nodded his head in its direction, biting his lip, "But, do you really want…I mean, are you-?"

"Let's just go before I step on your feet again."

Steve tugged him in that direction with a half-hearted, nervous sort of smile. Like  _he_ was the one that should be nervous right now…Tony followed somewhat reluctantly, his mind already spinning.

He was pretty sure if Steve said they Needed To Talk, he was going to throw up.

"Tony…" Steve let go of his hand once they were outside, and Tony suddenly felt cold.

"Please don't," he blurted.

"What?"

"Please, don't, I can fix it," Tony continued, babbling now, "I mean, I don't really know what 'it' is, because I mean, half an hour ago you would've run away with me to Oregon if I insisted so I don't know what I did or if-"

"Whoa, Tony, slow down-"

"-it was my speech or the Prince thing but please just tell me and I can fix it, but  _please_ don't say We Need To Talk because I-"

"Tony,  _breathe-"_

"-do love you and I know I'm fifteen but I  _mean_ it, I do, and just because I'm wearing a crown doesn't mean anything has to change, and also, if you brought me out to a beautiful garden to break up with me I don't think you're doing it righ-mmph!"

The moment the words "break up" crossed Tony's lips, Steve was moving forward, abruptly grabbing Tony by the front of his suit and kissing him hard enough Tony was pretty sure he saw stars. When Steve released him Tony just blinked, dazed long enough for Steve to get a word in, which, to be fair, had probably been the idea.

"You're an idiot."

"Well  _that's_ uncalled for-"

"You think I brought you out here to break up with you?"

"Okay, the kissing part's throwing me off a bit," Tony admitted, blinking rapidly, "I had a rational train of thought at one point, though."

"I'm sure," Steve tried and failing to stifle an amused smile, "Aren't you going to ask why there's band equipment in your garden?"

"There's…" Tony blinked at the objects, all set up two feet behind where Steve was standing, "Huh. Why's there band equipment in the gard-ohmygodyes."

"There's the genius," Steve smiled, taking Tony's hands again.

"Can we come out now?"

"I'm pretty sure I've been sitting in poison ivy."

"Stop scratching your leg, it'll make it worse."

"But it itcheees!"

Sam and Bucky stumbled out of the bushes, Bucky complaining and Sam rolling his eyes.

"Are you going to sing to me right now is this actually happening oh my god-"

"Tony," Steve smiled fondly, leaning in to kiss him silent again, this time with a chaste peck, "Shut up."

Tony shut up.

Sam and Bucky took their places, Bucky prepping his guitar by plucking a few chords, Sam taking his place behind the drum set. Steve released Tony's hands reluctantly, backing away to get behind the piano.

He gave a quick count, and then he was singing.

_Let's lay it all on the line_

_Put it out in the open_

_Put my heart in your hands_

_Can't keep it inside_

_Just want you to know_

_Want you to understand…_

Steve's voice was rough, deeper than Tony had expected. He wasn't great, but Steve could've sounded like a yodeling Scotsman for all Tony cared.

_So walk with me_

_Baby just walk with me_

_I'll be yours if you'll be mine_

_Cause that's how love should be_

_And you mean everything_

_Everything_

_To me_

It wasn't quite a slow song, but it was slower than the Howling Commando's usual material, a low-key, rhythmic melody. Steve's voice had a carrying lilt to it, a quiet sort of crooning, the sound meant only for Tony.

_I've learned a few things in life_

_Some of them the hard way_

_But I believe in you and I_

_I believe you're all I need_

_And if you feel that for me_

_I believe I could make you happy…_

Steve gave him a look then, so earnest and open, as if there was any possible question about how ridiculously happy Steve had already made him. It gave Tony the crazy urge to grab Steve and kiss away any other ridiculous questions about how he felt right then and there, but Steve continued singing and he managed to resist.

_So walk with me_

_Baby just walk with me_

_I'll be yours if you'll be mine_

_Cause that's how love should be_

_And you mean everything_

_Everything_

_So stay with me_

_Tonight…_

Steve trailed off, standing after the last notes finished, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

"I, uh," Steve scratched the back of his head as he approached Tony, adorably unsure of himself, "That's the song I told you I wrote. I got Buck to help me write the rest of the instrumentals, and thought, well, when I planned this, I thought you were turning down the Prince thing so you might want to be cheered up a bit, and I guess it seems silly now, but-"

Tony cut him off with a laugh and a teeth-clacking, lip-biting, altogether dizzying kiss.

* * *

_**Two Months Later** _

_Dear Journal,_

_Okay, so I'll admit, I feel a little stupid, guy keeping a diary and all that. But Phil insists it's important to kept track of my "royal thoughts", and Steve's the one that picked this one out for me after I mentioned-okay, complained-about the assignment, so he'd be pretty bummed if I didn't use it._

_So._

_This is me using it._

_As far as royal thoughts go, I've only got a couple weeks left til summer, when I travel to Genovia to meet the Parliament and the people. I'm supposed to go every summer, until I'm eighteen, then I move there permanently. To a CASTLE. Yeah, still wrapping my head around that one._

_Anyway, mom says she can do her art anywhere and she's not going to be on a different continent from her son, so she's moving there too, I guess. She'll also be going with me for the summer visits, since there's apparently like a thousand guests room in my CASTLE. Also, a_ _fter weeks of begging and pleading and promises from my mom to watch out for them, both Clint and Steve finally convinced their respective guardians to let them go with me for the summer._

_I'm partially worried about what Clint's going to get up to in the country I'm supposed to be running while I'm in Prince lessons, but I figure Steve and Natasha can manhandle him into line. Mostly I can't stop thinking about the fact that I get to spend three months living with Steve._

_In a CASTLE._

_Epic._

_Anyway, I'm mostly trying to focus on how awesome this summer's going to be instead of thinking too much about what'll happen when we all graduate and I move to a different continent, especially what'll happen between me and Steve. We've got two years til then though, so I guess we've got time to figure it out._

* * *

_**Two Years Later** _

_Dear Journal,_

_I'm not ready for this. I don't know if I can handle it. There's a very big difference between visiting Genovia and living in it._

_In theory, it all sounds great. Four years at Genovia's best university for political science and foreign studies (though let's be honest, I can probably get out in two, maybe three), breaks spent with Steve at his college or back in San Fran with him and his grandmother, and over the summer he comes to stay in the castle like usual. A_ _t least Clint's coming with me. I still can't believe Natasha helped him get into that bodyguard program. But then, it's Clint, it's not like he gives up on anything ever, so I don't know what I expected anyway._

_But the thing is, even with Clint coming with, even with Steve visiting...going to college there, that's a commitment. And I mean, I've still got all summer to think about it, but after that…no turning back. I'm all in. And I'm not good at commitment, it's terrifyi_

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"Were you reading over my shoulder?"

"Did you really just write you're not good at commitment?"

"Yes, no, maybe. Why? This is my private journal, I can write whatever I want to wri-"

"We've been in a relationship for two years without breaking up  _once_  and you're saying you're bad at commitment are you even-"

"Steve, I swear to god, if you read over my shoulder again I'll-"

"What, break up with me, Mr. Commitmentphobe? I'm so sca-"

"Elbow me again, I dare yo-you are officially disowned, you hear me? Disowned!"

"Pity, that's going to make the rest of this plane ride terribly awkward."

"A journal is  _private,_ Steve!"

"Tony, I'm just trying to tell you that you can do this, okay? You're ready."

"Lies."

"You've been training for two years, heck, you're more than ready. You know this stuff inside and out. Not to mention all the royals and citizens love you."

"…maybe. Parliament still hates me though."

"The average age of your Parliament members is over 80, and you're intelligent, but you're also ridiculously sarcastic, occasionally rash, and you're all for moving forward. You're the embodiment of everything they hate in the younger generation. It's hardly your fault, and besides, you'll grow on them, you always manage to win people over in the end."

"Great, my boyfriend's comparing me to a barnacle. Awesome. Very supportive."

"I'm calling you charismatic. And besides, even if you don't, you've got another four years before you need to convince them of anything."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. You're officially re-owned."

"Oh, well, as long as it's official."

"Of course it is, I'm a Prince. I officially officiate your re-ownment."

"Well in that case, I think we should celebrate. Have you heard of this thing called the Mile High Clu—?"

* * *

**_Four Years Later_ **

_Dear Journal,_

_Steve cheated._

_I want that to be very clear, for any posterity reading this: STEVE. CHEATED._

_I had the whole thing planned and everything. There was going to be a royal banquet and a walk in the gardens and then right by the fountain he likes to draw next to I'd get on one knee and say my piece and it would be perfect and he'd say yes and we'd live happily ever after and yadda yadda yadda and none of that matters anymore because the bastard cheated._

_He proposed first._

_Which was so not how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be me, with my awesome, four-months-in-the-planning proposal (although let's be honest, I was always pretty aware Steve was the single best thing that was ever going to happen to me, even better than inheriting a country, so it's probably more like six years in the planning but whatever), but Steve had to go and cheat me out of my awesome proposal._

_He did it right there at the graduation ceremony, too. All dressed to the nines in his robes, certificate fresh in hand, stupid pointy hat in the air, he dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him. And of course, because he's Steve, he had a whole speech about it, about how he was graduating which meant he'd been thinking about the rest of his life and what he wants to do with it and how no matter what he does or where he goes what matters is that we're together, that he can't imagine a life without me, et cetera, et cetera._

_Which is totally not fair, because my speech was awesome too, but his was, of course, better and more romantic and damn near made me tear up which so not okay. But. I mean, I guess it was kind of okay. Because it was him, and admittedly, the idea of spending the rest of my life with him has just seemed like a given for so long that I never really even thought about it until he said that, until he put words to my thoughts like he always does, and...well. Whatever._

_I said yes, of course._

 


	9. Epilogue

The Barton boy was going to be the death of her.

Tony's best friend or not, she had debated the pros and cons of killing him on more than one occasion. He was loud, obnoxious, flirtatious, and pretty much everything she couldn't stand. When he was just flirting his way through car rides to school, that was manageable. He was annoying and she could ignore him the way one ignores a mosquito-by smacking it down and forgetting about it.

When he came with Tony to Genovia over the summer, it was…worse, but still manageable. Worse not because he was around more, although that was a unique kind of torture, but worse because she began to  _know_ him. He wasn't just "Prince Tony's irritating friend", she started to see him as a person instead of just someone she had to deal with in relation to Tony's existence.

And that made things infinitely worse.

Because he was funny, when he wasn't trying to hit on her—sometimes even when he was, not that she'd ever let him know that on pain of death. Intelligent, too, though in a different sort of way from Tony's bolstering genius intellect. He was a covert kind of sharp, perceptive in a way that was usually overlooked because of his open, friendly nature.

He was also devastatingly good with a bow and arrow, had a keen eye for things like that, and was surprisingly cultured. She hadn't expected the last one by a long shot, but it turned out he was exceedingly well-read, and they actually got into a number of intelligent debates over the course of that first summer.

Which was, of course, her first mistake.

She had a soft spot for those unafraid of her, people like Phil and Tony, who treated her as a person instead of a bodyguard. Even Steve came around after that first summer, calling her Nat like the rest of them and even going out of his way to talk to her when Tony wasn't around. She liked him, as well; even that first summer, she thought, he knew exactly how lucky he was to have Tony in his life, and he never took that for granted.

The Barton boy—because "Clint" was much too dangerous, much too familiar—was never afraid of her.

Not for a minute. She could have killed him with her pinky finger and he flirted with her from the moment he laid eyes on her. It exasperating and endlessly frustrating but at the same time it was…not  _nice,_ but…unexpectedly amusing. She couldn't remember the last time someone had dared to flirt with her, much less some scrawny seventeen year old she could have turned into a pretzel in under thirty seconds.

For a while, that was the perfect excuse.

He was seventeen and she was twenty-three and even if she perhaps started to appreciate the human being under the idiotic, flirty exterior, even if she perhaps adjusted her route on a rough day to bump into him and let his compliments pick her spirits up, he was underage and she wasn't and it was never going to happen.

Then she made the mistake of telling him that.

Not that it would never happen, but that it wouldn't happen because he was underage. If it had doubled his flirting, it would have been fine. If it had got him to stop talking to her altogether, it would have been fine.

But no.

Instead, it got him to stop flirting with her and start  _talking_ to her _._ He still went out of his way to track her down—not that it was particularly hard, he just had to find Tony and then look in the nearest hiding place—but to start up conversations with her. She did her best to ignore him, but she was quite certain at this point that there was no one alive more doggedly persistent than Clint Barton.

Eventually she gave in, and they started having long conversations about everything under the sun, from how the political atmosphere of Genovia was adjusting to Tony's presence to a discussion of the most effective short and long range weaponry. Clint was exceptionally well-read and had little bits and pieces of knowledge on just about every topic, not to mention plenty of very distinct, occasionally ridiculous opinions about them. She even helped get him into a bodyguard program when he told her of his desire to become a bodyguard like her, to help defend and advise people like Tony.

That was fine. That was…manageable.

Then he turned eighteen, and that summer brought about the return of flirty Clint. He tried everything imaginable. He tied nightshade to arrows and shot them just in front of her, knowing she liked that little burst of defensive adrenaline. He hid books in places she'd find them, cheesy romance novels tucked in political thriller's covers like she'd been doing covertly for years. Chocolates began appearing on her desk, the orange and raspberry flavored white chocolates she liked.

She didn't know when he'd snuck a glimpse of what books she liked or when he'd taken notice what chocolate she ate or how he knew he favorite flower, but she shouldn't have been surprised. It was Clint, after all. The night before the teenagers left for America, she pinned the nightshade to his door with one of his beloved arrows, a note beneath it:  _Midnight, if you can catch me._

He caught her.

She put thought and effort into her hiding place. She sat on the garden wall, completely hidden by the tall hedges from every angle of the castle. He appeared at 11:59 with a rose in his teeth and an obnoxious grin. He was just eighteen and pathetically scrawny and laughably flirtatious and completely ridiculous.

He kissed her, and she let him.

They left in the morning, and he wrote her at least once every few weeks for the nine months in between. She never wrote him back, but he never seemed put off by it. If anything, he took it as a challenge, and Clint had never been one to turn down a challenge. The letters were rambling, babbling expositions about his life, stories of his training in the day and his crazy college adventures in the night. They were silly and sincere in turn, pointless and meaningful all at once.

They were love letters, and she kept every one.

When he returned for the summer, he was still just nineteen and pathetically scrawny and laughably flirtatious and completely ridiculous.

She still let him kiss her.

They weren't an item, and he didn't ask to be one. He didn't keep what they were doing a secret from Tony and he never pretended he would, but ther than Tony, and by proxy Steve, no one else was aware of their late nights in the gardens. Only once did either of the boys make any mention of it to her.

Perhaps a week after they'd returned for the summer, while Tony was in a meeting with Parliament, Steve joined her where she was keeping guard outside the room.

"He's busy," she raised an eyebrow at Steve, who had never before made any attempt to interrupt Tony's royal duties.

"I know," Steve nodded, "I was looking for you. I wanted to…well, I know you're not particularly talkative, but I wanted to tell you that you have my friendship, should you ever need someone to talk to."

"I see," she nodded. Her confusion didn't show on her face, but Steve must have guessed, because he continued.

"I know a bit about dating flirtatious idiots."

"We're not dating."

"Of course not," Steve conceded easily, "Dealing with flirtatious idiots, then. Just an offer."

"Flirtatious idiots, hm?" it was then that Tony's meeting must have ended, because he exited the room and glanced between them before taking Steve's arm, "You wouldn't happen to be talking behind my back, would you?"

"Who, me?" Steve smiled easily, "Darling, you wound me."

And then they were gone, still bantering away as they went off down the hallway, and Natasha was left to wonder what on earth she thought she was doing. She had no need to be in a  _relationship._ She could barely handle friends. She was best at watching over Tony, protecting royalty. Best at keeping people away, not drawing them close. It was best for everyone involved if she ended whatever it was they'd started.

That was the first night they had sex.

He didn't say anything as she led him to her bedroom, just followed silently, his hand in hers. He opened his mouth like he might speak when her hands went to his waistband, a look in his eyes like he was going to ask if  _she_ was sure. Something about the sincerity with which he would have said it made something in her chest loosen that she hadn't known was tight, so she kissed him silent before he could say anything and but for their satisfied sounds and the calling of their names, they didn't speak again. It was intense and fierce and when they were finished she turned away.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulderblade, and left without a word.

They spent years like that, stolen summers spent between bedsheets and hidden letters tucked away in a box under her bed. He eventually graduated the bodyguard program after two years, top of his class, despite being insistent on his weapon of choice being the little-used bow and arrow. He moved to Genovia after that, joining Tony's security team and quickly working his way up the ranks.

They never called themselves a couple, but even she couldn't deny the look Clint gave her at Steve's graduation when he dropped to one knee for Tony. Couldn't help but give it a moment's wonder what that felt like. The way the joyous men were smiling and laughing and tearing up all at once, it looked like it felt…emotional.

She and Clint watched as Steve scooped Tony up into his arms, twirled him around. For once, Tony didn't complain about Steve manhandling him "like a dame", just threw his arms around Steve and buried his face in his neck. Though Natasha didn't usually eavesdrop, she couldn't hide her curiosity at their exchange once Tony's feet returned to the ground.

"Steve…why? Why me?"

"You're right, I should've proposed to my  _other_ boyfriend of six years."

"Shut up," Tony nudged him, "You know what I mean."

"Tony, you saw me when I was invisible," Steve smiled easily, kissing Tony again, "It's always been you."

In terms of Steve-Tony conversations she'd heard over the years, it wasn't even close to the most mushy or sentimental thing either of them had said, not even in public, but it was the first that really intrigued her.

She'd heard enough from them both over the years to know the beginnings of their relationship. She knew Steve had once been tiny and weak and Tony had saved him from a bully at his own expense, and that Steve had cared for Tony long before his Princehood had been revealed; they'd both seen each other when they were invisible, on more than one level.

Hadn't Clint done the same? Tony and Steve had seen each other figuratively, romantically speaking, but Clint had seen her in a much more literal, much more real way. Invisibility was her job, her livelihood, her best talent. She could disappear into the shadows at any given moment, was used to fading into the background without a second thought.

Clint never let her.

Even when his best friend was being proposed to, it was her Clint was looking at. The moment passed and Clint tackled Tony and slapped Steve on the back, saying that if he didn't treat Tony like a prize they'd never find his body and they all laughed at some joke between them, but Natasha's thoughts lingered. Clint had looked at her with such reverence, such longing, she couldn't pretend even to herself not to know what he wanted.

What she wanted.

They still never called themselves a couple. Never married or had children or found themselves a white picket fence house. They weren't the type, never would be. But later that night, flushed and sated between the sheets of her bed, when Clint rolled over to leave like he always had since that first night, she grabbed his wrist instead and said what they both needed to hear.

"Stay."


End file.
